


Life (Disambiguation)

by Harlanhardway (Target44)



Category: Black Mirror, Paterson (2016), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Androids, Ash as an android breaks my heart, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Get Together, I put way too much thought into the androids, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Too much backstory, good thing Paterson is there, knowledge of any of these shows or movies not necessary, the Ash that shows up in this is the android
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Target44/pseuds/Harlanhardway
Summary: "Are you my new Administrator?"Ash is an android and Paterson is the quiet, poetry-writing bus driver that he falls in love with.





	1. Breaking the Bathtub Curve

**Author's Note:**

> For people who HAVE watched the stuff: I think the daughter's name is supposed to be Ash buuuuuuuut that just got kinda confusing and weird so I decided that the daughter's name is Abigail so that there can be one less Ash in this story. Also, I can't remember how far Ash was allowed to stray from his activation point. I think I increased it a little (to 100m)
> 
> For people who HAVE NOT watched the stuff: Ash was a person who was killed in a car accident on the day he moved in with his wife. The wife, Martha, finds out she's pregnant and freaks out and pays for this service that enables her to talk to a simulated version of Ash farmed from all his social media data. It escalates into her ordering an android that looks, talks, and acts just like Ash (again, using social media data). But she quickly realizes the android is really not the same thing and after contemplating destroying it (the android) ends up just storing it in the attic with all the other old photographs and mementos of dead relatives. Paterson is a bus driver in Paterson, New Jersey who writes poetry, likes to people watch and seems to have zero interest in the internet.
> 
> Also, Mothdustmouth is the reason this exists. She prodded me through this whole first chapter. She is the best.
> 
> ****EDIT: There's a [Music Video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSa-fXlhJvo) now, for anyone who whats to get a feel for these characters before jumping right in.

  
  
There was a sex doll in his living room.  
  
There was a real-life, full-sized, in-living-color, honest-to-god, accurate down to the nailbeds, male sex doll in his living room.  
  
In bondage.  
  
It was chained, by a U-lock around its neck, fed through the faucet holes, to the claw-foot bathtub that had recently been delivered to his house in a packing crate.  A packing crate that had been brought, not ten minutes before, by very friendly and perfectly amiable delivery men, into his living room.  
  
" _Thank god they left_ ," was Paterson's first thought.  Followed closely by, " _Thank god they didn't insist on unpacking everything and make me sign off on the inventory list_ ," and then, " _how the hell was this even inventoried_?"  Before he finally came around to the dreaded, but inevitable, realization:  
  
"My mother owned a Real Boy™?"  
  
"I'm not a Real Boy™."  The doll opened its eyes and Paterson startled, jerking back and rapping his knuckles on the edge of the bathtub.  
  
"Jesus, it's on."  He had been crouched over the tub, pushing away the sea of expandable foam and packing peanuts that kept it and the doll secured inside the shipping crate they had arrived in.  
  
The doll was slender, with a soft chin and narrow shoulders, much too soft and too narrow to be considered traditionally handsome, but with too broad a face and too deep set of eyes to be particularly boyish or feminine either.  There was a small bump on its right cheek, like a mole, but colorless, and it had very fine laugh lines in the corners of its mouth and the suggestion of crow’s feet around its eyes.  They were the kind of benign human flaws that portrait artists spend decades studying and trying to capture.  Only the very expensive androids had flaws.  
  
Truly realistic androids were something of a rarity.  Not unheard of, but rare in the same way that butlers were rare: everyone knew about them, had seen them in movies, understood in very vague terms what they might be good for, but, members of the British Royal Family aside, most people spent their whole life without ever seeing one in person.  Realistic androids were expensive, largely pointless and notoriously fragile.  
  
According to the four-year-old Popular Mechanics magazine Paterson had flipped through at a dentist's office once, the self-charging internal batteries of the more complex androids tended to suffer similar cycle-life problems to that of the electric car.  Additionally, they were almost impossible to keep in full repair, which was the only state in which the illusion of realism could at all be maintained.  Anything simulating a mucus membrane was, supposedly, particularly delicate.  Their eyes, for instance, could get clogged with particulates in the air, like the worst kind of hay fever.  But androids couldn't heal, so instead of getting red and puffy, their eyes would just keep trying to clean themselves until the tear ducts fully broke down and started to crack apart and disintegrate into their eye sockets.  There had been an accompanying photograph, the poor thing had looked miserable, like its eyes were rusting and it wanted to cry but couldn't.  
  
In comparison, the sex-bot chained to the bathtub in Paterson's living room had perfectly articulated tear ducts.  Its pale eyelids were framed by long copper lashes that fanned beautifully across its cheeks when it blinked, smooth as silk.  Its eyes were soft and green and its hair was red.  
  
It spoke with a distinct Irish accent.  
  
_Jesus Christ._  
  
"My mom had a leprechaun fetish."  Paterson was not normally one to speak his thoughts out loud, but no one expects their recently deceased mother's leprechaun sex-bot to show up on their doorstep with the family photo albums.  
  
The android grimaced.  Cutely.  It had a cute grimace.  And started digging through the packing peanuts that surrounded it.  "No, look.  First of all, I'm not a sex-bot, not really, and I am _certainly_ not a leprechaun sex-bot.  I can explain, I promise.  I just couldn't be seperated from my activation point.  See, I'm wearing clothes and everything!"  It paused to gesture at itself.  
  
It, he, the male-coded anthropomorphic robot of unknown make, model, purpose, or origin, was indeed wearing the not particularly sex-bot or leprechaun-esque outfit of a worn-out T-shirt, grey skinny jeans and black supra high tops.  The hightops looked new.  There was hardly any wear visible on the sole when the android lifted it out of the bathtub and pulled it towards his chest so he could dig something out of his sock.  It was a bit awkward with his neck still locked to the faucet hook-ups.  
  
"Here!"  The android smiled triumphantly, holding a key aloft, then started to feel around the U-lock for the key-hole.  "I thought about swallowing it, you know, in case the movers searched me or something.  But retrieving it just sounded way too awkward."  He grimaced again, still cutely.  "I figured this would be creepy and awkward enough as it was, without putting us both through that unpleasantness."  
  
Paterson watched him struggle a bit more with the lock, then stepped forward, putting out his hand.  "Do you want me to help?"  
  
The android paused, then pressed the key carefully into Paterson's palm and held himself still, leaning his head back against the curved rim of the bathtub.  The bathtub must have been an antique, or very poorly cared for, its porcelain coating was yellowed and it made him look that much more pale: paler than porcelain.  
  
The key fit and turned smoothly in the lock, releasing the crossbar, and Paterson's hand brushed against the side of the android’s neck as he caught the lock before it could fall.  Its skin was cool and soft, smooth, like suede and it blushed very slightly pink as it glanced up, meeting Paterson's eyes, before looking away again.  The gesture was shy.  If it had been a human, Paterson thought, it might have swallowed just then.  
  
But it wasn't.  As it was, it didn't even breathe deeply.  It just let its eyes flick away for a moment and then peared up at Paterson again with an embarrassed sort of tilt to its eyebrows.  
  
"Are you my new Administrator?"  
  
*****  
  
It had all started a month ago.  No.  Strike that. It had all started at Thanksgiving.  Well.  Actually.  The truth of the matter could probably be traced back to the dog.  
  
When the dog had eaten Paterson’s notebook and then been violently ill, because the pages had expanded in his stomach and caused the him to colic.  Paterson had taken Marvin to the vet immediately and it had been expensive, but it was for Marvin, and Marvin was Laura's dog and that was the kind of thing a person did for family.  It had been a lot of money though, the kind of money that made Laura's cupcake business take a backburner to paying their mortgage for a while.  So Paterson had lost his poems and Laura had lost her cupcakes and Marvin had undergone major gastrointestinal surgery and the whole house had descended into what Paterson later came to identify as a collective depression.  
  
Paterson had never been much of one for big moods.  For him, the depression had been persistent, but not devastating.  Losing his poems had been like having a very good friend, who had always lived next door, unexpectedly move away in the middle of the night.  The friend had not died, they were still out there in the world to be called or written to or visited, but it was still sad, not having them close by anymore.  
  
It had been different for Laura.  Depression made her anxious.  She had called her mother a lot.  Laura's mother had never liked Paterson very much.  Laura's mother had never liked Marvin very much either.  Laura's mother had always thought Laura would like it better in California, that New Jersey was too dark and dreary for someone as vibrant as Laura, that Paterson was too dull, too staid, too ordinary for Laura.  
  
Paterson had never been sure if she had been talking about him or the town or both.  
  
The crux of the matter was that six months later, Paterson had found himself buying Laura out of her half of the mortgage.  He now owned half a house, half a retirement account, half of a safety deposit box, and one entire dog.  Marvin hadn't made the move to California either.  
  
Then, two months after the divorce had gone through, his mother had died of a heart attack, in her sleep.  
  
It was an strange thing, to stand around at his mother's funeral while distant relatives and childhood acquaintances made vaguely congratulatory remarks about his recent divorce, as if he had somehow anticipated his mother's passing and dumped his wife, just in time to cut her out of any possible inheritance.  Because settling his mother's estate and writing his mother's obituary was something he had wanted to do alone.  Obviously.  
  
At least it had been quick and fairly easy, there wasn't much to handle.  His mother had rented her home in New Jersey, and though she had been widowed as a young woman, she had never remarried.  She had two grown children, wasn't religious, didn't gamble, didn't play the stock market and she wasn't a hoarder.  
  
By the time Paterson's half-sister Abigail had flown in from England, everything had already been taken care of.  They had already decided over the phone that Paterson would write the obituary for the newspaper and Abigail would give the eulogy.  There were approximately four boxes worth of personal effects for them to go through, none of it of any particular value, and that was it.  Easy.  Done.  
  
Or so Paterson had thought.  
  
"I'm going to sell the house."  They were loading the last of Abigail's things into her rental car, she was going to spend the weekend visiting friends in New York before flying back to the UK.  
  
Paterson blinked once in surprise, then closed the trunk and straightened up to look at her.  "Um... okay."  
  
Abigale was ten years his senior, they had never been particularly close.  Abigail's father had died when their mother was still pregnant with her, the same day she got pregnant, actually, if family legend was to be trusted, and the house in question had been his.  It was in the UK somewhere, or maybe Ireland.  Paterson had never been there, he had never been more than one-hundred miles outside of New Jersey.  
  
Around the time Abigale had turned seven, her mother had moved with her to America, where she had met Paterson's father and, three years later, had given birth to Paterson.  She had never talked about her life back in England, or about Abigail's father.  Paterson wasn't even entirely sure what his name had been.  It had crossed his mind to look for him on social media once, out of curiosity, but Paterson had never known his mother to have so much as a Facebook account, and he was so rarely online himself, he hadn't even known how to start looking.  
  
Abigale continued, "I've been renting it out for years but the latest tenants just moved out and now that Mum's gone, I think the best thing to do would be to sell it.  There are still a few old things up in the attic, though.  Photographs and the like, from when Mum was a girl.  I went through most of it years ago, weeded out the junk.  Do you think you might want a look?"  
  
"I don't know that I'll be making it to Europe anytime soon.  Maybe you could take some photographs?"  
  
"Oh, God, no.  I haven't been back there in years, I was just going to send a cleaning crew over.  They'll either toss it all, or I could have it sent to you.  I'll take the shipping cost out of Mum's estate, yeah?"  
  
Paterson had wanted to say that anything their mother hadn't seen fit to tell him about was probably none of his business anyway, especially now that she was gone.  But Abigale was just so persuasive sometimes, like Laura, like their mother had been.  It was easier, sometimes, to just go along.  Also, there was something deeply intriguing about being given the opportunity to peek into his mother's past, and not just at metadata on a computer screen, but the physical proof of her past: the letters, journals and photographs she had kept and then decided to leave behind.   The opportunity to meet someone close to you like they were a stranger on the bus, it was not an easy thing to pass up.  
  
Especially since all he had to do was say yes.  
  
Abigale said there wasn't much, just photos and things.  Maybe she had written poetry, once.  Maybe he could write something for her.  
  
"Sure.  Send it over.  What could it hurt?"  
  
*****  
  
"I thought Abigail would be my new Administrator.  Are you," the android paused for a moment, his eyes unfocusing for half a second before he looked back again, "Paterson?"  
  
"Did you just look me up?"    
  
The android rubbed at the back of its neck, brushing the packing peanuts out of its hair and climbing up to sit on the brim of the bathtub.  It looked uncertain, maybe even nervous.  "Should I not do that?  I can stop.  There isn't much out there on you anyway, just public records, mostly."  He fingered the edge of the bathtub and eyed the floor, like he was thinking of getting out but wasn't sure if he should or not.  "Are you my new Administrator?"  He repeated.  
  
"I don't know what that means.  What are you?"  
  
"I'm Ash.  I can't be further than one-hundred meters from my activation point without an Administrator."  
  
"And your activation point is the bathtub?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And that's it?  That's all your Administrator does, allow you to leave the bathtub?"  
  
The android, Ash, looked at the floor for a moment, pressing his mouth together into a tight line, like he didn't particularly want to answer.  When he looked up again, his eyes were big and worried.  His eyebrows were a very bright sort of red and they stood out in sharp contrast to the paleness of his face.  His hair looked soft and it curled, very slightly, where it brushed against his forehead.  "My Administrator sets goals and dictates the parameters of my programing and is authorized to adjust functionality settings."  
  
"Who was your last Administrator?"  Paterson was fairly certain he already knew, but he asked anyway.  
  
"Martha Starmer."  
  
"The last time my mother was in England must have been ten years ago.  How did she end up as your Administrator?"  
  
"She initialized me."  
  
Paterson just stared for a moment.  It was one thirty in the afternoon on a Sunday.  It was his day off.  He didn't like interrogating people.  He didn't like prying.  People told him things because people tended to tell him things.  Obviously, androids were an exception.  Or, at least, this android was an exception.  This android didn't seem to want to go into any kind of detail about anything.  
  
_"RAWR!  Rawr, rawr, rawr!"_  
  
"OH MY GOD!"  Ash jumped out of the bathtub as Marvin emerged from the other room and tore across the livingroom floor, lunging at the packing crate.  
  
"You have a dog.  Oh my god, you have a dog."  He let out a string of impressively high-pitched curses while almost tripping over his own feet and braining himself on the coffee table, then finally managed to clamber onto the back of the couch  
  
Paterson leaned down to pat the overly excited bulldog on the head and calm him down.  "Marvin, this is Ash.  He might be around for awhile, so you're gonna have to get used to him."  Marvin could always be counted on to break the ice, it was one of his better attributes.  "Ash, this is Marvin."  Paterson beckoned Ash forward with one hand.  "It's okay, he just needs to smell you.  You don't like dogs?"  
  
Ash was holding himself tight against the wall and looking down at Marvin in terror.  "It's more that dogs are not generally over-fond of me.  I think they see me as some sort of a strange-looking cat."  He leaned down a little, still crouched on the back of the couch, but extending one hand slightly at Paterson's prompting.  
  
Ash and Marvin looked at each other skeptically.  
  
Ash brought his hand a little closer and Marvin sniffed it a few times, his nose twitching back and forth and his tail wagging.  Then he started to lick at Ash's fingertips, drooling enthusiastically all over his palm before practically trying to take the whole hand in his mouth.  
  
Ash's eyes got slowly wider and wider, but he didn't move.  Paterson took this for a good sign, until he leaned in a little closer and could hear Ash frantically whispering to himself, "He's going to eat me, please don't let him eat me.  Oh my god, he's going to eat me..."  
  
"Marvin, cut it out!"  Paterson pulled Marvin back. "You know better than that, go to your bed!"  Marvin trotted away, looking slightly disgruntled at having been interrupted, but overall unperturbed.  
  
Ash stared down at his slobbery hand in open disgust.  He made an aborted gesture, first to wipe it off on his own shirt, and then on a couch cushion, thinking better of it both times, before finally just holding his hand out in front of himself and looking over at Paterson in distress.  
  
Paterson couldn't help but laugh, Ash did look a little bit like a cat that someone had tried to pet the wrong way.  "He likes you, it's a good thing."  He shook his head still smiling, then nodded towards the kitchen.  "Here, come wash your hands."  
  
"Please don't let him lick my face.  I don't know if I would survive it, it might give me a cerebral hemorrhage."  Ash climbed awkwardly off the couch, one hand still held away from his body like it was covered in something nasty and infectious as he followed Paterson into the kitchen.  
  
"I was going to make lunch, do you eat?" Paterson asked.  
  
Ash shook his head, walking over to the sink and turning on the faucet.  He carefully adjusted the temperature, testing it with the tip of one finger, before sticking his hands under.  "I can, but I don't need to."  There was a nail brush next to the soap and he brushed his cuticles gently, then massaged soap into the palms of his hands, between his fingers, across his wrists and up his forearms, brushed again with the nail brush, and then rinsed.  His fingers were flushed pink when he was done and Paterson could see the fine copper hair on his arms fluff up slightly as he dried his hands with a kitchen towel.  
  
"You're an android, right?"  It seemed suddenly very important to ask, just in case.  Just to be sure.  
  
"I'm..." Ash made that unhappy face again, the one that looked slightly scrunched and mostly worried.  "I'm a personalized grief-counseling simulation."  
  
"I thought those were made illegal under privacy laws."  
  
"I was one of the first."  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
Ash got a sly sort of look on his face for a moment and Paterson, rethinking his question, cut him off before he could respond.  "I mean, how long has it been since you were initialized?"  
  
"Forty-one years."  
  
"Jesus.  That's old."  
  
"Don't let your sister hear you say that."  
  
"I mean, for an android.  For an android, that's ancient."  
  
Ash laughed awkwardly, hopping up on the counter and tapping a rhythm into the formica with his fingertips.  "I like to think of myself as something of an OG.  That's even better than being retro."  He flashed a nervous smile, then looked down at where his fingers were drumming against the formica.  "I don't know how much longer I'll last, without an Administrator."  
  
Paterson pulled a loaf of bread down out of the cupboard and then turned to open the fridge, ignoring the obviously leading statement.  Things were starting to come together a little bit in his mind.  "The person you're simulating, was that Abigail's father?"  
  
He could hear Ash's fingers on the countertop, the rhythm had changed, becoming syncopated.  "Yes."  
  
Paterson pulled lettuce, mustard, mayonnaise, sliced turkey, tomatoes, pickles and cheddar cheese, one by one out of the refrigerator and stacked them on the counter next to the bread.  He closed the door and bent to get the cutting board out from under the counter.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
The drumming stopped.  "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, I didn't know Abigail's father so I don't know that I need grief counseling for him."  
  
"I don't think I was any good at it anyway.  That's probably why they made us illegal.  It freaked people out too much, a bit too 'I see dead people' for the average Joe Bloggs.  
  
"I'm not illegal, though."  He added, quickly, "I'm grandfathered in, initiated before the law came into effect and all that, like antique ivory."  
  
Paterson nodded, closing his sandwich and cutting it in half crosswise, before going back to the refrigerator and putting the lettuce, tomatoes, turkey, cheese, pickles, mayonnaise, and mustard, one by one, back away.  When he turned around again, Ash was staring straight at him, his feet crossed at the ankles and his knuckled fists clutching the edge of the counter.  His mouth was pressed a bit to the side, like he was thinking about biting his lip, but trying to break himself of the habit.  His soft, round face, and high cheekbones, narrow shoulders, and deep-set eyes, they combined to make him look both very old and very young, at the same time.  Antique ivory seemed an apt description.  
  
"You didn't answer my question."  
  
"I want you to be my Administrator."  Ash had very green eyes.  He didn't blink, or at least, not very often.  
  
"Okay then."  
  
"Okay then, what?"  
  
"Okay then, yes.  I will be your Administrator."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bathtub curve is widely used in reliability engineering. Basically it shows the predicted rate of failure of something over time. There is a lot of initial "early failures" (obvious manufacturing errors, whatever) then failure rates decrease dramatically and level off to what is known as "random failures" and then they start increasing dramatically again after a certain amount of time once "wear-out failures" start happening. It creates a curve that looks like a bathtub (steep sides and flat bottom). Basically, I'm saying that Ash should not have survived this long, he is way more than three-standard deviations away from when he should have worn out. Also: the bathtub.


	2. Made, not Begotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the time period: yeah... so... this is all set very much out of time. Basically: it's set in present day but at the same time it's been present day for going on 40 years now. For all intents and purposes there have been no social, economic, or political changes since Ash was activated and there has been no progress in technology either. The timeline of the characters in relation to the rest of the world is just not gonna make any kind of sense soooooooo just don't think about it too hard, okay?

  
  
RadioShack was probably not the best place to go for advice on the care and upkeep of an android.  But there was one right next to the bus depot and Paterson didn't really have any other brilliant ideas, so that was where he went.  Plus, Ash was an older model of android, an extremely older model, and unlike most other tech stores Paterson had ever been in, there was a decent chance that some of the RadioShack employees might have actually been alive when Ash had been constructed.  
  
The man behind the front desk, for instance, looked to be in his early 40s and was wearing a khaki-cargo-pants-plus-flannel-button-down-over-a-long-sleeved-shirt combination that made him look like he'd recently been spit out of a time-warp from the 1990s and hit every Kevin Smith movie on the way down.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know the model you're talking about."  The man keyed through a few screens on his computer and adjusted his gigantic coke-bottle glasses where they were sliding down his nose.  "They were really common maybe twenty, thirty years ago.  Rare these days though, they didn't have a huge self-preservation drive and there was a lot of neglect.  I can set you up with a basic synth-skin repair kit but you'll probably need more than that."  
  
He looked up, staring at Paterson almost confrontationally for half a second, then pointing towards the magazine rack in front of the counter.  " _Popular Mechanic_ runs a column on antique android repair called _AARP_.  It's really good.  I hear the guy who writes it is a genius.  You should read it.  I can get you some of the back-issues too.  You'll want those."  
  
Then, without waiting for Paterson to respond, the guy turned on his heel and marched off into the back room.    
  
_What a strange person._  
  
Paterson picked up the current issue of _Popular Mechanics_ and paged through to the column in question.  It was written by a Robot Design Technician named Matthew Reynolds who had apparently taken to restoring early-model androids in his spare time.  
  
"Okay," the man stormed back in with five more magazines, slamming them down on the counter along with a portable synth-skin repair kit, "this is all we have on hand, but I can order more for you.  Or you can look up the column online.  You said the android was talking?"  
  
"He is."  
  
The man paused for a second to push his glasses up and adjust his bangs, brushing them down to fall more evenly across his forehead.  His hair was straw-blonde, so yellow it looked almost bleached, except for where it was going slightly grey at the temples.  "Good, then you can ask him questions.  He should be able to run his own diagnostics.  Even the really old androids are designed to be self-maintaining, it's just not always programed to be a priority.  That doesn't mean he's stupid, though.  If he's as old as you say he is, then he's probably been sentient for longer you have.  Don't assume you know better because you don't."  
  
"Don't try to out-think the thinking machine, got it."  
  
The man practically glared at him, scanning the magazines into the register without even really asking if Paterson wanted them.  “It would be best if you didn’t even think him as a machine.  Unless you want him calling you a meat-sack.”  
  
Paterson nodded and payed, opting to use cash, not to sign up for a rewards card and not to order more magazines.  He might look into getting more of them later, but the man behind the counter was not the sort of person Paterson wanted in possession of his home address.  
  
Maybe next time he'd try going to Best Buy instead.  
  
*****  
  
Marvin ran up to meet Paterson as soon as he got home, barking happily and wagging his tail in expectation of being taken out on his walk.  Paterson put his lunch pail and the plastic RadioShack bag down on the side table by the door and hung up his coat.  
  
"Calm down Marvin, let me change and then we'll go."  He bent to scratch behind the dog's ears, getting him to calm down, before straightening up and heading towards the bathroom, unbuttoning the cuffs on his uniform shirt as he went.  The wall clock ticked loudly in the hall.  
  
He hung his work shirt up on the hanger on the back of the bathroom door, and bent over the sink to wash his face.  The steam from his morning shower would take the wrinkles out so he could wear it again the next day.  He always tried to wear his work shirts twice in a row, it was energy efficient and helped reduce fabric wear and tear.  Only in July and August did he have to wash his shirts every day, it was just too hot.  There was no way to keep from sweating through his undershirt.  
  
Reaching back blindly for a towel, he patted himself dry, then brushed his hair back behind his ears.  It always felt good to wash the grit of the street off his face and neck.  
  
He inspecited himself briefly in the mirror.  He wasn't bad looking, exactly.  Maybe a little unconventionally put together, certainly not traditionally handsome, but he had all his hair and all his teeth and he was clean.  He was happy with that.  He wasn't sure he wanted any more.  Just this, and maybe someone else who would also be happy with that.  
  
Marvin had stopped barking and the house was quiet again except for the soft tap tap tap of Marvin's claws against the linoleum as he wove to and fro between Paterson's feet.  
  
Paterson hung the towel back up behind him and then opened the door to go back out into the hallway.  He paused in the doorway.  
  
The bathtub was gone.  
  
Or rather, the old built-in bathtub was gone and it had been replaced, at some point during the day, by an even older, claw-foot, stand-alone model.  He hadn't noticed the change at first because the curtain had been drawn closed around it.  Looking properly now, he pulled the curtain aside and saw the evidence of a truly horrendous home-remodel.  Half the tiles were either chipped or out-right broken and the plaster was cracked and flaking where the old bathtub had been ripped away from the wall.  The water pipes had been exposed and extended so they could reach the new tub hookups, but the taps obviously did not fit properly and were being held in place by a messy lump of JB Weld.  
  
Paterson reached out to poked at the mass of grey fixative with one finger, it was still soft, probably hadn't been curing for more than an hour or two.  He turned on the taps and watched the water gather in the tub and flow down the drain, then crouched to check the drain pipe, where it disappeared into the floor.  There didn't appear to be any leaks.  
  
He'd have to pick up a drain plug when he went out to walk the dog, no one would be taking a shower in here until he got a curtain hung that went all the way around.  He could sand down the JB Weld disaster once it dried fully and refinish the walls, maybe fix the fan while he was at it and put down some new linoleum.  It'd be a good project for the weekend.  He'd never picked out a shower curtain before, maybe he'd get one of those ones with a world map on it or something.  He wondered if Ash had a preference.  
  
Flicking out the bathroom light, he wandered back into the hallway.  
  
Ash was lying down with his back to the doorway when Paterson made his way into the bedroom.  He must have heard Paterson come in, because he quickly rolled over and sat up, tucking his feet underneath himself on the bed and blinking sleepily.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't ask if I could use your bed, but it was the only place Marvin wouldn't follow me."  
  
Paterson padded over to his closet and selected a blue and grey flannel shirt, taking it off the hanger and slinging it over his shoulders.  "It's fine.  Are you tired?  I saw that you switched out the bathtub today."  
  
"I used your tools, I hope that was okay.  The old one's in the backyard, I wasn't sure what to do with it."  
  
"It's okay.  I'll drop by the hardware store tomorrow and pick up a few things to finish the job.  There's a scrap yard we can take the old one to over the weekend."  Buttoning his shirt, he watched Ash assessingly, taking in his narrow shoulders and slender chest.  Ash was tall, but not very broad.  He looked like he could probably fit into one of those sad WWI uniforms they always had on rotating display at Fort Bragg, the ones designed to fit 18-year-old boys who'd grow up in the days before modern nutrition and antibiotics.  It was easy to forget that he was an android.  "You're stronger than you look."  
  
Ash laughed, rubbing at one of his eyes.  "I'm really not.  I don't get tired very easily, but you're definitely stronger than I me.  I'm supposed to simulate my Source Model as closely as possible and I'm fairly certain the only times he ever willing went to the gym was to buy a smoothie and use the free wifi."  He stopped rubbing, blinked a few times, then smiled ruefully.  "You have a jack and a furniture dolly out in the shed and I just kinda... figured it out.  You'd be surprised what you can learn on the internet."  
  
Paterson nodded.  After having seen the bathroom, he was not in the least surprised that everything Ash knew about home improvement had been learned from off of YouTube.  "I can help you next time.  Is there anything you need?  We should get you your own room."  
  
"No!  No," Ash sat up straight, looking slightly alarmed, "I don't need my own room.  I can just stay out in the livingroom at night, I don't mind Marvin.  He drools, but it's not so bad and, really, I don't even sleep.  I don't need my own room."  He blinked furiously, his left eye twitching as he talked.  
  
Paterson was suddenly reminded of that article he'd read so many years ago about androids and their very delicate eyes.  Ash blinked a few more times.  "Is there something wrong with your eye?"  
  
Ash's sagged back onto his knees, cupping one hand over his left eye and sighing resignedly.  "I was hoping you wouldn't notice.  I need to flush it out, I think there's something stuck in it."  
  
"Can I take a look?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Ash started to shuffle forward a bit, leaning in, but Paterson shook his head.  "The lighting's bad in here, let's go into the bathroom."  
  
Stopping first by the front door to grab his brand-new synth-skin repair kit from off of the side table, Paterson followed Ash into the bathroom.  He was leaning over the sink when Paterson walked in, pulling his eye open as wide as he could and peering into it in the mirror.  The overhead light caught on the pupil and it retracted, folding in on itself like the aperture on an old-fashioned camera.  Paterson was struck by how alien he suddenly looked under the harsh overhead lights, even though the gesture itself was so human.  Then Ash blinked, letting go of his eyelid and stepping back to sit on the edge of the tub.  
  
Paterson set the repair kit down on the counter as he washed his hands.  Ash stared at it incredulously.  "Did you get that at RadioShack?"  His expression went from disbelieving to appalled as Paterson nodded into the mirror in confirmation.  "Are you going to touch my _eye_ with something you bought at RadioShack?  You better disinfect every part of that.  Twice."  
  
"Mmhm.  I'll be sure to go to Walmart next time."  
  
Ash practically squeaked in indignation.  
  
Calmly drying his hands, Paterson and went to stand between Ash’s legs.  He handed him a packet of q-tips and a bottle of non-caustic cleaner.  "Hold these please.  Okay, tilt your head up."  He lifted Ash's chin gently to bring his face into the light.  
  
As he leaned in, the illusion of Ash's humanity fell away.  It was like jumping into a fogbank and landing, not on the ground, but in a deep, clear lake.  His skin was smooth and slightly cool to the touch.  All the tiny details of texture and skin tone were printed on: the laugh lines in the corners of his mouth, the patch of stubble under his jaw, even wind-burn across his nose.  All of it was just painted on except for that one single, artistic blemish that formed an awkward bump on Ash's right cheek.  His lips were pink and full and Paterson couldn't tell if that too wasn't just another part of the illusion, or if they really were as soft as they looked: softer than his soft, soft face.  
  
Paterson brought his hand up to Ash's temple, holding his right eye open gently with his fingers.  The irises were patterned grey and green.  If Ash had been anything other than a red-head, they might have sometimes even looked blue.  His eyelashes were long and thick and they made his eyes stand out, bright against the pallor of his coloring.  He really was beautiful and it made Paterson wonder if the first Ash had been just as beautiful too, or maybe androids were designed to always be particularly flattering portraits.  Or maybe he just liked the look of androids.  Or maybe just this one.  
  
He watched the whites of Ash's eye, looking for anything that didn't belong.  "Left, please.  Now up."  
  
Ash rolled his eye as directed.  
  
"To the right.  And down."  
  
It was amazing how still Ash could be, not needing to breathe, not blinking or sneezing or swallowing.  Paterson took a q-tip and dipped it into the cleaning solution, then brought it carefully up to Ash's eye.  
  
"You have very big hands."  Perfect control over all motor functions did not, apparently, preclude choosing to talk anyways.  
  
Paterson paused with the q-tip hovering just at the edge of Ash's eye.  "I know, Ash.  I'll be careful."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Look to the left again."  
  
Ash rolled his eyes over to the left.  "You have a lot of poetry books."  He seemed to be a nervous talker, if there was such a thing, in an android.  
  
"I do."  
  
"The entire collected works of William Carlos Williams.  And it looks like you've actually read them all, too."  
  
"I have.  I like William Carlos Williams."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I think his writing is beautiful."  
  
" _so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens._   That?  You find that beautiful?"  Ash had strung the whole poem together, saying it fast, like the single sentence it was.  Without the proper pacing, it sounded flat and sad, like a partially deflated a balloon.  
  
"I like that simple things can be beautiful.  Look up again please."  He pulled Ash's lower lid down a little further with the q-tip.  "Is there any poetry you do like?"  
  
Ash grinned, responding almost immediately.  
  
_"Be glad your nose is on your face,_  
_not pasted in some other place,_  
_for if it were where it is not,_  
_you might dislike your nose a lot."_  
  
Paterson could feel the movement of Ash's face under his fingers as he recited.  It wasn't quite like the movement of muscles, but it wasn't entirely unlike it either.  His breath was dry and slightly cool and it whispered across Paterson's chin and neck like a gently oscillating fan whenever he spoke.  There was something very alive about him, something real and tangibly alive, like how old television sets used to buzz and spark with static electricity whenever they were turned on.  Except, also nothing like that.  
  
_"Imagine if your precious nose_  
_were sandwiched in between your toes,_  
_that clearly would not be a treat,_  
_for you'd be forced to smell your feet."_  
  
Paterson responded with the second verse, then raised an eyebrow, smiling as well.  "Your nose is not nearly big enough for that to possibly be your favorite poem."  
  
"Well pardon me, I didn't realize the Society of Large-Nosed Persons had a claim on poetry.  I take it you're a member in good standing?"  
  
"Honorary only, the Big-Eared Citizens Association takes up too much of my time.  Look to the left, please."  
  
A few seconds passed in silence and Ash started to get fidgety, tapping his fingers against the side of the tub.  
  
"Is that really your favorite poem?" Paterson asked.  
  
Ash flicked his eyes up, then them back left again.  
  
"It's okay if it-- wait, hold still."  Paterson cut himself off and Ash held very still while he rolled the q-tip very gently over Ash's lower lid and against the white of his eye, coaxing the dark speck caught there away, towards the tear duct.  
  
After a minute of careful prodding, it was finally out and Paterson was able to look down at the offending irritant on the end of his q-tip.  "It's an eyelash."  
  
Ash scrunched up his nose peevishly.  "My eyelashes don't just fall out."  
  
"Not one of yours, I think it's one of mine."  He inspected the short black hair for a moment longer, then snorted and turned to throw it away under the sink.  
  
"Why is that so funny?"  Ash asked, blinking and rolling his eyes around, testing to make sure there wasn't anything else stuck in them.  
  
"I was just thinking," Paterson laughed again and shook his head, "there's no way you could be a sex doll.  You can't even go 24 hours in the same living space as a human without getting bits of me stuck in your moving parts."  
  
"Hey!"  Ash groused and crossed his arms, looking offended.  "I can have sex!  I'm very good at sex!  Excellent, even.  I've had rave reviews."  
  
"You've had sex?" Paterson packed away the synth-skin repair kit, making space for it in the medicine cabinet next to the first aid supplies.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"You, personally?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"With someone who was not my mother?"  
  
Ash opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it again and huffed.  
  
He frowned so miserably, his mouth turned down and his one eye still red and puffy from having been poked and prodded at for the past twenty minutes, that Paterson couldn't help but laugh and lean over to kiss that pathetically sore eye.  "It's okay, I believe you."  
  
Ash's skin was soft and cool against his mouth and it felt good to kiss.  
  
The gesture had been almost absent-minded.  Paterson had been laughing and re-organizing the medicine cabinet and Ash had made a stupid face and he had just kissed it, on reflex, like they were some kind of a newly-married couple.  Except that he had been part of a newly-married couple before and it hadn't necessarily been like that.  
  
"Sorry."  The tips of his ears burned with embarrassment.  
  
But rather than angry or offended, Ash seemed, if anything, deeply amused.  "It's okay."  He smiled and then had the audacity to wink.  "I don't know if kissing it better works on me, but I appreciate the effort."  
  
"Right."  Paterson stared blankly, not sure what to do, until Ash's smile started to waver and the moment became awkward and uncomfortable.  Paterson was good at that, making things awkward and uncomfortable, it was one of his special skills.  He turned towards the door.  "I need to take Marvin for his walk."  
  
_"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each."_  
  
Ash was still perched on the rim of the bathtub when Paterson looked back, but his eyes were narrowed and distant.  
  
_"I do not think that they will sing to me._  
  
_I have seen them riding seaward on the waves_  
_Combing the white hair of the waves blown back_  
_When the wind blows the water white and black."_  
  
His eyes snapped into focus again.  "That.”  He looked up at Paterson.  “That's a poem that I like."  
  
"It's a good one."  
  
"It's not about simple things being beautiful."  
  
"Not everything has to be simple."  
  
When Ash looked away again, Paterson almost swayed forward at the loss.  
  
Ash tapped his fingers against the side of the bathtub and shuffled his feet.  "I can make you dinner, if you want, for when you get back.  Are you hungry?"  
  
"No, that's fine.  Don't worry about it."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Making a hasty exit, Paterson grabbed Marvin’s leash and headed out the door.  
  
*****  
  
Leading Marvin on a short loop through town, they passed by the hardware store, where Paterson was able to buy a drain plug for the bathtub just before they closed for the evening.  He dropped Marvin and his shopping off at the house, and then left again, without even taking off his jacket.  The bar wasn't very far away, but the temperature had dropped as soon as the sun had gone down and it was cold, well below freezing.  He walked quickly, pulling up his collar.  
  
Paterson always went to the bar after taking Marvin out for his walk.  He would drink one beer, making sporadic small talk with the bartender.  The other bar flies would come and go, regulars would nod and greet him by name.  Sometimes someone would want to talk, sometimes not.  It was neither loud nor crowded and the most prying question anyone ever asked him was whether his name really was Paterson or not.  It was nice, to be around people, to feel acknowledged and accepted, without the pressure to engage.  
  
By the time he'd finished his beer and left the bar, he was well and  truly hungry, so he stopped by the late-night deli down the street and ordered a sandwich.  It was saltier than he was used to eating, full of cheese and corned beef, but it tasted devine.  They'd even warmed it on the griddle for him.  He ate standing up at the counter, looking out on the dark streets through the big plexiglass windows at the front of the store.  The first few snowflakes of winter were coming down out of the sky, drifting slowly through the still air, illuminated by the street lights.  It reminded Paterson of paper ash.  
  
Paterson's second deployment had been to the Battle of Mosul, where, just before being pushed out of the city, ISIL had bombed and burned the Central Library.  Even as ISIL retreated, there hadn't been the resources to devote to putting out the fire right away and it had been left to smoulder for days.  By the time the city was retaken, little had been left besides a blackened building filled with room after room of charred bookcases and soft white ash.  Thousands of texts had been lost.  Their unit’s translator had openly wept as they’d gone past.  
  
It was a strange thing to remember, but it had stuck with him.  
  
Zipping his jacket all the way up to the collar and shoving his hands into this pockets, Paterson headed home.  The snow was insulating, bringing the temperature up, just slightly, and as he approached the house, he could see the front light was on.  It made him smile, to think there was someone inside, waiting for him.  
  
He walked around to the back of the house.  The old bathtub was out there, slowly filling with snow, and he tipped it up on its side as he passed, before kicking off his shoes under the covered porch and going inside.  
  
All the lights were off, except for one by the front door, but the blinds were open and the snow reflected light in off the street, bathing the house in a soft blue glow.  The snow had started coming down a little heavier and Paterson could hear it pat pat pat against the roof as he walked quietly through the house.  Marvin stirred from his spot on a chair in the living room when Paterson walked by, but he didn't bark, just looked at Paterson quizzically and then trotted off in the direction of the kitchen, where Ash was.  
  
Ash was standing in front of the kitchen sink, looking out the window.  He held himself very straight and very still, feet shoulder-width apart and arms at his sides.  It seemed to just be his way, standing like that, as if he were waiting for something.  Marvin padded over and curled up at his feet, but Ash still didn't move, maybe he hadn't even noticed.  
  
The sound of the snow falling outside was louder in the kitchen for some reason and the house creaked in time with the wind.  Everything was dark, except for the cool blue light streaming in through the window and it made Paterson think of the sea.  
  
If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear waves, lapping at the walls as a far-off band played "Nearer, My God, to Thee."  Diners in starched white collars and long dresses ate and drank and talked in low voices.  Someone was telling a joke.  A glass shattered and everyone laughed.  The snow fell and the wind gusted and the sea was dark, but down below deck, the band played and the diners ate and Paterson could almost feel the iceberg that loomed somewhere just out of sight, hidden beyond the windowpane.  
  
"Is that you?"  
  
Ash turned at Paterson's question and abruptly the sound cut out.  
  
"You didn't have to stop.  What was it?"  
  
It had been a recording, so subtle that Paterson had barely noticed it at first, but also strangely immersive.  He half-expected Ash to explain that he had been merely testing the operating efficiency of the house's sound system.  
  
But, of course, this was Ash and nothing he did was expected.  
  
Instead, he cocked his head to the side and frowned, as if confused himself.  "I guess I'm just used to hearing the ocean all the time, it felt strange without it."  
  
Paterson had heard white noise machines before and whatever Ash had been doing had been way more complex than just playing back a recording of the ocean.  
  
"It was nice."  
  
Nice was the wrong word.  _Frere Jacques_ was nice.  _The Rite of Spring_ was nice.  This was Euclidean Geometry.  The Fibonacci sequence wasn't nice.  
  
Marvin shook himself loudly and they both looked down.  
  
"I'm going to take Marvin out again."  
  
"Okay."  Ash turned back towards the window.  
  
"Would you like to come?"  
  
  
*****  
  
Ash didn't have any winter clothes.  He didn't have anything other than what he had been wearing when he'd shown up in the packing crate and it occurred to Paterson, probably much later than it should have, that they would have to go shopping for him before too much longer.  Ash pointed out that, as an android, he didn't sweat and didn't feel cold in the same way that humans did, and thus had much fewer clothing needs, but Paterson insisted on him wearing warm layers anyways.  The boots were several sizes too big and the jacket much too broad in the shoulders, but the hat fit just fine and he looked warm.  Ash smiled as he stepped outside, tilting his face up to the snow and tucking his hands into the quilted pockets of the jacket.  
  
_Human-simulation-type androids have garnered a reputation for being overly-delicate and maintenance heavy, but only to those who have forgotten that they are neither Cyberdyne Terminators nor crash-test dummies.  They are androids, designed to simulate humanity, and as such are no more and no less delicate than either you or I._  
  
Paterson had taken a copy of _Popular Mechanics_ to the bar with him and had read through the column by Matt, the Robot Technician.  The writing style had been all over the place, sometimes dry and technical, giving detailed descriptions of repair techniques and how to source aftermarket replacement parts, and sometimes digressing into long bouts of generalized advice about bedside manner and how to make an android feel safe.  What was most notable, however, was the empathy both expressed and encouraged towards the android subject.  
  
Paterson watched Ash catch a snowflake on his tongue, then close his eyes and spin in a slow circle, letting the snow fall on his face, settling onto his eyelashes and melting down his cheeks.  
  
He thought about the way Matt was always careful to refer to androids as a collective "they" and never a singular "it."  
  
He thought about the man at RadioShack, telling him that androids weren't stupid and never to assume that they didn't know their own needs.  
  
He thought about Ash, alone in the house, composing music.  
  
"Do you want me to contact Abigale for you?"  
  
"Hmm?"  Ash turned towards Paterson, still smiling but also looking slightly confused.  "Why?"  
  
"You said you thought she'd be your new Administrator.  Do you want her to be?  Does she know about you?"  
  
"Hmm."  Ash went back to catching snowflakes on his face.  "Martha used to take her to come visit me, until they moved away to America.  I don't think Abigale quite understood what I was.  I doubt Martha ever told her, which, admittedly, _would_ have been a rather awkward thing for a mother to explain.  She came back once, years later, when she was much older, but..."  He trailed off and made a face.  
  
"But?"  
  
"I hid from her."  
  
Paterson stopped walking, surprised, then stumbled forward again as Marvin tugged him violently towards sidewalk.  
  
"I was afraid, I think."  Ash continued, poking at the snow that had collected on top the mailbox and writing his name in it: A. S. H., in all capital letters.  
  
"You thought she'd get rid of you?"  
  
He nodded and wiped away his name, shoving his hands back in his pockets again.  "Martha tried to, once."    
  
They walked for a second or two in silence.  
  
"Then why'd you chain yourself to a bathtub and have yourself mailed to her?"  
  
"Well, if I was going to be recycled anyways, I figured I might as well get a good prank out of it.  The look on your face was priceless, by the way."  
  
Paterson snorted.   "You have something of a dark sense of humor, don't you?"  
  
"Hey, don't blame _me_ ," Ash raised his eyebrows wide in mock innocence, "I'm just a simulation."  
  
"After forty years of being yourself, I'm not sure that's still a valid excuse."  
  
"On the contrary, blaming things on your Source Model is one of the better perks of being an android."  
  
Paterson rolled his eyes, smiling.  "So, you don't want me to contact her, then?"  
  
"No."  Ash was a few steps ahead and Paterson couldn't quite see his face, but he sounded sincere enough.  "Besides, you're my Administrator."  
  
_Right_.  
  
Running a hand through his hair and tucking it back behind his ears, Paterson sighed.  He watched Ash, walking ahead of him with his hands outstretched, catching snowflakes on his fingertips.  It was all a little bit much for having not even been forty-eight hours.  
  
_We'll figure it out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AARP stands for the American Association of Retired Persons. It's a huge interest group in the US, we're talking 37 million+ members.
> 
> Poems: "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams; "Be Glad Your Nose Is on Your Face" by Jack Prelutsky; "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot
> 
> ACCORDING TO MY RESEARCH (OMG DO NOT TRUST THIS TO BE THE END ALL BE ALL OF ABSOLUTE TRUTH): During the battle of Mosul (Oct 2016-July 2017) ISIL (Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant) rigged the Central Library of Mosul with explosives and burned it down (January 30 of 2017). I know that there were US Marines involved in the battle of Mosul at the end of 2016, but I do not think there were any on the ground when the city was retaken in 2017. I'm not totally sure about that, though, so just... be aware that I don't know.
> 
> The last scene was partially inspired by [a drawing by Jeusus](https://78.media.tumblr.com/64d4f8e711b0864d1ddc872dc084a81c/tumblr_p25rwpJXaI1vtqmhvo1_540.png) (their primary Tumblr is @jeusus, but this image was posted to their other account @tiniestbutt).


	3. Screen Burn and Ghost Images

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ash gets cut on the hand during the Black Mirror episode. I don't remember exactly where on his hand, though, so... just roll with it.

  
  
Paterson smiled down into his glass.  The bar was quiet and cool, a good place to be after a long, hot day.  
  
It was August and the repaving crews were out in force, working their way across town patching potholes and disrupting traffic.  His bus had been crowded and smelling like the stale, mephitic air that always drifted up out of the storm drains on truly hot days.  There was a fan in the cab with him, but he had still sweated through both his undershirt and his blue collared uniform, until his back had started sticking to the synthetic fabric of the driver's seat.  Some days it felt less like a bus and more like a hotbox full of miserable, irritated people.  Today had been one of those days.  
  
But then, he had clocked off and gone home and Ash had been there.  He had washed off the sweat and the dirt of the street and they had gone out to walk the dog together in the evening light, just like they had done every evening after Paterson got home from work for the past six months.  
  
Ash had talked about the MIT lecture series he was working his way through on theoretical physics.  Paterson wasn't sure he understood it, but then again, Ash didn't seem to completely understand it either.  He said he liked the way the math sounded in his head, that it was like trying to follow along with a symphony, even when he lost his place in the score, he still enjoyed listening to the music.  Paterson was willing to take his word for it.  
  
Then Ash had asked about Paterson's day and listened, rapt, to his story about the stray dog that had followed the bus for twenty blocks, like Paterson had stumbled across the Valley of the Lost on his way from Davenport to State Street.  
  
On other days, he would sometimes ask Paterson to read him a poem, and sometimes Paterson would, if he had written anything new that he was proud enough of.  But sometimes, they would just walk, quietly observing the world together.  It was nice.  Then, when they got home, Ash would go inside with Marvin and Paterson would continue on to the bar for his one beer.  When he came back, he would help Ash with his eyes and ask him to run a diagnostic check, and then Ash would make dinner.  
  
It was comfortable, their routine.  It no longer felt strange to wake up to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of Ash whisper-shouting at Marvin to, "Get back!  I swear, if you jump up on me one more time, I'm putting your food right back in the cupboard and you'll have to wait for Patty to wake up before you get any."  Ash had been issuing that same empty threat every morning for the past six months and every morning for the past six months Paterson would lie in bed, smiling to himself, as he heard Marvin jump up anyway.  Ash would sputter indignantly for two and a half adorable minutes and then cave immediately when Marvin started sniffing around his dog bowl again.  
  
"What's gotten you so excited all of a sudden?"  
  
"Hmm?"  Paterson looked up, startled out of his thoughts.  Doc, the bartender, had walked over without him noticing.  
  
Doc looked amused.  "You're smiling like you just won the Powerball and are afraid someone might notice."  
  
Paterson took another drink of his beer.  He considered brushing the comment off, but found himself instead opening his mouth and saying, "I've met someone."  
  
Doc politely raised his eyebrows.  "Really?  Someone, who?"  
  
"A childhood friend of my sister's."  Paterson paused and looked down into his glass again.  It would be so easy to just leave it at that.  But that wouldn't be getting at the truth of the matter at all.  "He's an android."  
  
If Paterson had been expecting a big reaction out of Doc, he didn't get one.  "From your sister's childhood?  That's pretty old."  
  
Paterson smiled and huffed out an almost-laugh.  "Ash likes to call himself 'well-preserved.'"  
  
"You like him."  
  
Paterson nodded.  Then added, "He composes music," as if that explained anything.  
  
And maybe it did, because Doc hummed thoughtfully and nodded as well.  "I'm happy for you.  I'm glad you found someone."  
  
Paterson frowned down into his beer, running a hand through his hair and resting his elbows on the bar.  "It's not what you think."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I'm his Administrator."  
  
Doc looked at Paterson expectantly, waiting for him to continue.  
  
"It's in his programing to be guided by the needs of his Administrator."  
  
"Hmm..." Doc leaned against the bar and looked off to the side, thoughtfully.  "So are you worried that he's been programed to like you?  Or that he doesn't like you at all and just can't tell you so."  
  
"I don't know.  Both."  
  
"What does he say about the situation?"  
  
"Nothing.  He avoids the subject."  
  
Doc laughed.  "It doesn't sound like you've been too eager to bring it up either.  Nobody ever likes talking about the important shit."  
  
Paterson nodded and sighed, taking another drink of his beer.  
  
"Oh, come on, it's not as bad as all that.  Bring him around sometime, I'd like to meet the android that managed to turn your head."  
  
"Sure.  Maybe sometime."  
  
*****  
  
Ash sat on the edge of the bathtub with Paterson crouched in front of him, holding a jar of synth-skin gel and carefully dabbing at the ugly rash on Ash's knee with a fan-tipped watercolor paintbrush.  Ash had fallen on the pavement a few weeks before and the wound was wide enough that the patch had to be built up slowly, over time, like glazes on an antique oil painting, lest it fuse awkwardly or be rejected all-together.  
  
Paterson dipped his paintbrush back in the jar, wiping the excess off on the rim before concentrating on Ash's knee again.  "Do you need to have an Administrator?"  
  
"I can survive without one, I suppose.  I didn't have one after Martha died.  I didn't like it very much, though."  
  
"Because you couldn't be further than 100 meters from the bathtub?"  Paterson addressed his question to Ash's knee.  
  
Ash always looked a little washed-out in the bathroom, especially dressed in just an old, ratty T-shirt and a pair of novelty smiley-face boxer shorts, like he was.  There was an intimacy to it, being allowed to see Ash when he was at his most vulnerable and looked the most alien.  
  
A strand of Paterson's hair escaped from behind his ear and fell in front of his face.  Ash brushed it back for him.  "Not really.  I hadn't left the attic in years, not since Martha left for America.  But it was very... unmoring.  I can't really describe it, sort of like having a heart attack, but not physically painful and all the time.  I didn't like it."  
  
"Did you ever just try to leave?  Even without an Administrator nearby?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What would happen if you tried?"  Wiping off his paintbrush and recapping the jar, Paterson blew across the new skin on Ash's knee.  The patch was fusing well and building up evenly, in only a few more days it would be almost perfectly flush with the surrounding skin.  
  
Ash didn't respond.  
  
"Everything okay?"  Paterson glanced up to see Ash scowling down at his knee.  
  
He didn't look angry, so much as he looked sad and maybe a little disappointed.  "It's not the right color."  
  
Paterson sighed and got to his feet, kissing the corner of Ash's eye when he tilted his face up for it.  They didn't sell synth-skin gel in Ash's exact skin-tone, so Paterson had tried to color-match with a few different shades.  It was close, but still a little bit too dark.  
  
"I'm sorry.  I guess you'll keep collecting scars until I get better at this.  How are your hands?"  
  
Ash lifted his palms up for inspection.  "Better, I think patch finally took."  
  
Paterson ran his thumb over the thick, lumpy scar on the heal of Ash's hand.  It hadn't been a big cut, but it had been old, something Ash had been carefully cleaning and tending for years, possibly decades.  He hadn't volunteered the story behind it and Paterson had not pressed him.  But because of its age and Paterson's inexperience with synth-skin repair, getting it to close had taken months.  Patch after patch had just flaked away and fallen off before Paterson had finally dug out an article on synth-skin repair from the _Antique Android RePair_ archives and learned about wound cleaning and how to build up layers properly.  
  
It was probably selfish, but Paterson liked Ash's scars.  They belonged entirely to Ash.  They had color and texture and had been gained through real experiences in Ash's life.  The faux-scars Ash had inherited from his Source Model, even the ones he knew the story behind, seemed more like birth marks or some kind of an avante-garde china pattern.  They were beautiful in their own way, but they meant nothing.  
  
Paterson turned towards the sink to wash his hands and put away the synth-skin repair kit.  "I'm sorry,"  he repeated. "We can try to find a restoration artist to do the last few layers, they might be able to match the colors better."  
  
Ash rolled his eyes and waved the apology away.  "Don't start with that, you know I think you're wonderful.  That's the only reason I let you anywhere near me with a paintbrush.  I'm still allowed to be vain, though."  
  
Glancing towards Ash in the mirror, Paterson felt his ears heat up.  He changed the subject.  "I stopped by the newsstand during my lunch break today."  
  
"Did you now?"  
  
Paterson nodded.  "The August issue's out."  
  
Ash clapped his hands and smiled, almost falling backwards into the bathtub in his excitement.  "Is Techie in this one?  Have you read it yet?  Where'd you put it?"  
  
"You do know that _Popular Mechanics_ has an online edition, right?"  
  
"Ugh, don't be thick, Patty, this is our thing."  
  
Paterson smiled over his shoulder at Ash as he dried his hands.  "I don't know if Techie is in this one, _Ashley_ , I haven't read it yet.  It's on the table by the door."  
  
Over the past six months, they had managed to work their way through all the back-issues of _Antique Android RePair_ , the column written by Robot Technician Matt Reynolds and run monthly in _Popular Mechanics_.  What had started as just Paterson reading out excerpts to Ash for clarification or a second opinion, had quickly turned into Ash asking to hear the whole article, and then the one before and after it, and then the entire catalogue in sequential order.  He followed it like it was a soap opera and had become convinced that Matt was in a relationship with one of the androids, a model E lab tech referred to as "Tech E."  Ash had nicknamed him "Techie" and the distinction was clear in the way he said it.  
  
The details of Techie's background were only ever given in the vaguest of terms.  He had spent years under probably less-than-ethical work conditions, undergone several shoddy aftermarket retrofits and when Matt had first come across him, he had been in such a state of disrepair that it was something of a miracle he hadn't already been scrapped.  Judging by close-up images of some of his components, he looked to be thirty, maybe thirty-five years old, and potentially very convincingly human, though his face was never shown.  
  
Ash took this to mean that Techie was living as a human somewhere with Matt.  Paterson tended to be slightly more skeptical, but he hoped Ash was right.  A lot of the coping techniques Matt recommended for calming androids down and making them feel more secure, where techniques Paterson recognized.  He knew about them from veterans' support groups and the pamphlets that circulated throughout the VA system, the kind that dealt with PTSD.  It seemed likely that Matt had learned these techniques for Techie, to help him cope with whatever darkness was in his past and it was nice to imagine them having a happy life together somewhere, writing a column about their struggles that was so bogged down in technical details and industry jargon that only another android would be able to see it as the love story it was.  
  
Ash followed Paterson out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.  "Will you read it to me?"  
  
"You don't want to read it yourself this time?"  
  
"Ugh, you know I hate reading.  It's like trying to interpret flag signals or lights flashing in morse code.  Audio files are so much better.  Besides--"  
  
The buzzer on the oven went off and Ash dashed over to it with a pair of oven mitts, cutting himself off.  He turned on the light and looked inside, through the window, before cheering and opening the door.  "I am amazing!  I am wonderful and amazing and if this tastes rotten I don't even care!"  A beautifully rissen souffle emerged from the oven as Ash pulled the oven rack forward.  He lifted it up onto the stovetop, then turned towards Paterson in triumph.  
  
Paterson smiled fondly.  "It looks good."  
  
"It looks _amazing_.  Now hurry up and set the table."  He shoo-ed at Paterson with his oven mitts before running out of the room again to grab the latest edition of _Popular Mechanics_ that Paterson had left on the table by the door.  
  
"You're reading this to me after dinner."  Coming back in, Ash sat down next to Paterson at the table.  He always sat next to Paterson, not across.  According to him, it was less creepy if he wasn’t staring at Paterson head-on while he was eating.  It was still strange, but no more or less strange than a myriad of other little things about Ash.  Paterson didn't judge him for it.  After all, Ash didn’t judge Paterson for his need to eat.  
  
The souffle was good and afterwards they went to the living room to read their column together on the couch.  Ash closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cushions, smiling to himself as Paterson read out a step-by-step procedure on how best to clean an android's hands.  
  
*****  
  
Ash was very open about most aspects of being an android: how he connected to data networks, how he processed information, how his physical experience of the world might be similar to or different from that of a human.  But his relationship to his Administrator was not something he liked to discuss.  Not every android was tied to an Administrator, but for Ash, it seemed to have been designed into his base programing.  He adamantly refused to consider any scenario in which he did not have an Administrator and that Administrator was not Paterson.  In fact, it was only after weeks of questioning that he finally conceded that it might be worthwhile to even test the bounds of of his administrative restrictions.  
  
It was a Sunday and they went out to the National Historic Park to stand on the bridge overlooking the Passaic River waterfall.  Paterson went there often to write and he knew it well.  The walking trail continued fairly straight past the bridge, following the bank of the river for a good 200 meters before it started to veer left, out of sight.  Paterson thought that might make it easier.  
  
"Are you ready?" he asked, holding Marvin's leash.  
  
Ash was as white as a sheet, his mouth pressed into a thin line and his jaw clenched.  "This will make you feel better?  About being my Administrator.  If... if I can do this.  Right?"  
  
Paterson did not at all like how nervous he sounded.  "You don't have to.  I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do, that's the whole point.  Do you want to call it off?"  
  
"No."  Ash shook his head sharply, fixing his eyes on Paterson and planting his feet, as if getting ready to brace himself.  "No, I'm ready.  I can do this."  
  
Paterson nodded, "Okay," and started to walk.  
  
There were no distance markers on the trail, so after what felt like the length of a football field, Paterson turned back to look.  Ash was just as he had left him, now a distant figure on the bridge, standing perfectly still, as if in readiness.  Maybe it hadn't been 100 meters yet.  That was Ash's range: 100 meters from his activation point or 100 meters from his Administrator, no more.  
  
Paterson continued to walk.  
  
It wasn't until the path started to curve left, that he heard footsteps behind him.  He glanced back.  Ash was sprinting towards him at full-tilt, crashing them together before Paterson had time to react.  Ash's shoulder caught Paterson low, in the small of his back, and his arms wrapped around Paterson's legs, pulling them out from under him so that he fell forward and landed hard on his chest.  
  
"--What?"  It took Paterson a moment to reorient himself and get his breath back.  But by the time he managed to sit up, Ash was already crawling into his arms, burying his face in Paterson's hair and clutching at his cotton T-shirt.  His whole body shook with giant, wracking tremors and he was sucking in air through his nose like he was five miles up and had just found his oxygen mask.  Which, for someone who did not necessarily need to breath, was a notable thing.  
  
"I'm sorry, I can't do it.  I tried, I promise I tried, but I just can't.  Please don't leave me.  I'm not like you.  I'm sorry.  I can't do it.  I'm just not like you.  I'm not human, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  I can't."  Ash was babbling into Paterson's hair, clutching at his shoulders and continuing to suck in deep breaths as if trying to reassure himself through smell.  Paterson had worked a six-hour shift that morning and knew he smelled more like diesel exhaust and sweat than he did like anything else, but Ash did not appear to notice or care.  
  
"Hey," He stroked Ash's hair and kissed his temple.  "Hey, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
They sat together for a few minutes, Paterson continuing to run his hand over Ash's hair and down his back, whispering calm reassurance in his ear until he stopped shaking and the steady stream of frantic apologies began to taper off.  "Everything is fine.  You are safe and I'm not going anywhere.  Everything is fine."  
  
Ash relaxed his death-grip on Paterson's shoulders and sat back a little.  He looked drawn and miserable, so Paterson leaned down to kiss the corner of his eye.  It was something they did whenever Ash was injured.  Paterson would help patch him up and then kiss the corner of his eye to make it feel better.  It was a joke.  
  
Well, it was sort of a joke.  It was something they pretended was a joke.  
  
Ash wasn't letting it be a joke anymore.  He turned into the kiss, catching it full on the mouth and leaning into it.  His mouth was soft and full and his hands were warm as the pulled Paterson's face towards his own.  He tasted like fresh water and peppermint in a way that reminded Paterson strangely of Christmas and made him wonder if kissing Ash during Christmas would make him taste like spring.  
  
Ash moaned softly into his mouth and it was enough to remind Paterson that this was real, not a dream or a fantasy.  He pulled back.  Ash took one look at his face and before Paterson could even start to say anything, broke down again, hiding his face in Paterson's chest and shaking.  If Ash's eyes could have produced tears, he would have been crying.  He might as well have been crying.  His voice sounded wrecked, like it was a struggle just to get out words.  "Love me.  Why can't you just love me?  I love you.  Is my love not good enough?  I can't change what I am.  I can't be human for you.  Love me anyways.  Please.  Why can't you just love me anyways?"  
  
A few long seconds passed with Ash crying against Paterson's chest and Paterson holding him and staring down at his shaking shoulders in shock.  "I..."  When he finally tried to speak, his voice came out rusty and uncertain.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  "When I read poetry, it reminds me of you."  
  
Paterson was clearly terrible at these kinds of conversations, because Ash just sobed harder when he heard that.  "Of course you do.  You and your stupid modernist poetry about eating fruit and watching paint dry.  Well, I don't want to be some still-life that you leave out in the rain next to your ugly red wheelbarrow.  I don't want to represent something to you, I want to be something to you."  He hiccuped and sniffed noisily into Paterson's shirt.  
  
"Ashley," Paterson kissed the top of his head, "people don't read poetry and think of things that don't mean a lot to them."  
  
"Well how would I know, I'm not a person."  Ash sniffed again, his voice still rough, but somewhat calmer.  
  
"You're a person, Ash.  You may not be human, but you’re a person."  Paterson sighed, pulling Ash a little closer and nuzzling his hair with his chin.  "I'm sorry I asked you to do this.  It was a bad idea.  Are you okay?"  
  
"I think so."  Ash nodded his head, allowing himself to relax a little bit.  "I just... It was terrible.  I don't want to ever do that again.  It felt like dying.  It felt like you were dying."  
  
"Okay.  We won't ever do it again."  
  
"I don't want to try any of the other things, either.  I don't want you to break up my bathtub, or hire some blackmarket software engineer to write me an upgrade.  Or, I don't..."  His grip got tighter again for a moment before relaxing.  "I don't know what it might do to my programming.  I don't want...  I'm happy the way things are.  My world isn't as big as yours, maybe, but that doesn't mean it's not full.  That doesn't mean it's not as good and why do we have to change it?  I like it.  No one is going to steal a stupid bathtub and I don't want to die just because... just because I can't leave the house when you're not around."  
  
Ash made it sound like Paterson was suggesting he get a lobotomy.  Maybe he was.  It hadn't quite occurred to him just how big the risks might be.  
  
"Unless..." Ash continued, looking down at his hands and smoothing out the stretched-out collar of Paterson's shirt, "unless you feel trapped?"  
  
"No, Ash."  Paterson sighed and shook his head.  This had all gotten very turned around somehow.  "I'm sorry I asked you to do this.  I didn't understand.  Let's just go home, okay?"  
  
It took a few minutes of rearranging limbs and chasing after Marvin, who had snagged his leash in a bush nearby and wasn't doing anything to help with the untangling, before they started back on the path towards the parking lot.  They walked hand-in-hand.  The contact seemed to be reassuring for Ash, who was still pale and a little unsteady on his feet.  His grasp turned into a death-grip when they made it to the bridge over the falls, as if he was afraid that Paterson might suddenly decide to leave him there.  
  
"What kind of poetry?"  He asked, when they were just over half-way across.  
  
"Hmm?"  Paterson watched Ash out of the corner of his eye.  He still looked fragile and withdrawn, but if he was comfortable enough to try talking through his nerves, that was probably a good sign.  It made Paterson feel like shit to think that it was him who had orchestrated the whole misadventure and talked Ash into trying it.  
  
"You said that when you read poetry, it reminds you of me.  So: what kind of poetry?"  
  
Paterson thought for a moment.  "There's one that I read just the other day, about fog."  
  
"Tell it to me."  
  
_"The fog comes_  
_on little cat feet._  
  
_It sits looking_  
_over harbor and city_  
_on silent haunches_  
_and then moves on."_  
  
Ash's eyes got distant as he listened, the way they always did when he was considering something.  After a few seconds, he said, "There's a cat-fog analogy in _Prufrock_ too."  
  
"I know." Paterson smiled.  _"The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,"_  
  
Ash nodded in approval.  "I like it."  
  
"You told me.  It's your favorite poem."  
  
"No, I mean, I like the other one.  I like both of them."  
  
"Me too."  Paterson laced their fingers together and squeezed Ash's hand gently.  "I like them both too."  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Paterson didn't go to the bar that evening.  Everything felt much too delicate.  In a strange reverse of fate, Paterson found himself feeling anxious and uncomfortable every time Ash left his line of sight.  He caught himself listening for Ash in the other room and, hearing nothing, having to repeatedly fight down the urge to go check.  Marvin had no such qualms.  He took to following Ash from room to room and curling up across his feet whenever he stayed still for too long, as if concerned that he might wander off when everyone else was looking the other way.  It made Paterson feel better to see that, even if he knew it shouldn't.  
  
He considered staying in the next day too.  After he had gotten back from work and they had taken Marvin on his walk, he considered not going out to the bar.  But at the very last second decided against it, instead turning to Ash and asking, "Do you want to come?"  
  
"Come?"  Ash looked up from where he was untying his laces and slipping out of his shoes.  
  
"To the bar."  
  
"Oh.  Yeah, sure.  Okay.  Good."  He slipped his shoe back on.  
  
The walk to the bar was quiet and strangely awkward.  They had been out in public together before, obviously, but Paterson had never actually introduced Ash to anyone he knew before.  Paterson was under the impression that Ash was not used to being introduced to people.  
  
When they got there, Paterson ordered a beer for himself, like he always did, and then, by mutual unspoken agreement, one for Ash as well.  Ash sat on a stool next to him for a few minutes, sipping his beer and looking around curiously.  There was an old fashioned jukebox in the back, the kind that played actual vinyl 45s that a tiny arm would manually pull out of a stack and set onto a miniature turntable that you could watch spin while the music played.  Ash was always equal parts fascinated and irritated by analogue technology, so it was not surprising when he got up to go inspect it.  
  
What was surprising was when he then walked over to the bar to ask Doc to change a five for quarters.  Ash always had money on him when he left the house.  It was something Paterson insisted on.  If Ash had no ID and no real legal standing, then it was Paterson's opinion that he should at least always carry cash.  This was just the first time Paterson had ever known him to actually spend it on anything.  It was also the first time Paterson had seen him talking with another person entirely on his own.  
  
Back at the jukebox, Ash ran his fingers over the buttons and squinted down at the labels, sucking on his lower lip in that unconscious way he sometimes did, when he wasn't paying enough attention to stop himself from doing it.  His eyes focused in and out as he read and then, presumably, checked the song title against an audio file from some music database he had remote access to.  But who really knew?  Ash didn't always do things the way one might expect.  Maybe he was reading the songwriter's biography or looking up the history of the record label.  Either way, he must have discovered something that he liked because, after a while, he smiled and Paterson found himself smiling with him.  
  
One of the other regulars, a woman named Marie, wandered over.  She pointed something out on the jukebox, maybe suggesting a song, maybe to tell him that one of the buttons was broken, Paterson wasn't close enough to hear.  Ash turned towards her and smiled, nodding his head as he introduced himself.  It made Paterson smile wider.  A certain sense of pride and belonging spreading over him like a warm blanket.  Ash had nodded in his direction when he had introduced himself.  He had nodded towards Paterson, like they were together.  
  
"Is that him?"  Doc had crept up on Paterson again and was standing by his elbow at the bar.  
  
He tried to dampen down his smile a little as he responded, "Yeah, that's him.  That's Ash."  
  
"He's cute."  
  
Paterson nodded.  
  
"Did you ever have that conversation we talked about?"  
  
He nodded again.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And he wants to keep things the way they are."  
  
"But you're not sure how you feel about that."  
  
Paterson shrugged.  "It's not fair to him."  
  
Doc hummed to himself, watching Paterson watch Ash over by the jukebox, then asked, carefully, "And it's up to you to determine what's best for him, then, is it?"  
  
Paterson let his eyes slide back over to Doc.  "I care about him."  
  
"You're just not sure if he is capable of making his own choices."  
  
Paterson didn't say anything.  
  
"It's a tricky thing: being the arbiter of another person's freedom."  Doc tapped at the side of his beer for a second.  "I can't help but notice, though, you never do seem to question whether or not he qualifies as a person to begin with.  Or are you saving the does-he-have-a-soul discussion for another day?"  
  
The jukebox turned on just then and Billy Joel's voice came streaming through from the back of the bar.  
  
_Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray_  
_They built you a temple and locked you away_  
_Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay_  
_For things that you might have done_  
  
Ash and Marie were dancing, Marie much more elegantly than Ash, who looked like he had taken the truism 'dance like no one is watching,' perhaps a little too much to heart.  But he was also beautiful like that: flushed and laughing, his head thrown back and his eyes crinkled up in the corners with how widely he was smiling.  His bright red hair was tangled, pushed away from his face, and he had thrown his hands out wide as he sang the chorus with Marie, loud and off-key.  
  
_Only the good die young_  
_That's what I said_  
_Only the good die young_  
_Only the good die young_  
  
It made Paterson ache to think of how drawn Ash had looked, only the day before, as they walked back from the park, how haunted and tired and sad.  
  
Paterson turned away, resting his elbows on the bar and running his fingers through his hair.  "I'm being an idiot, aren't I?"  
  
Doc snorted and poured him a second beer.  "An idiot and just a touch condescending as well, but welcome to the conversation anyways."  
  
Paterson shook his head, laughing a little to himself before taking a drink.  He glanced over his shoulder again, back towards the jukebox.  
  
Ash looked happy.  He was smiling and laughing and just the day before, had told Paterson in no uncertain terms that he could think and love and feel and act with free will and would continue to think and love and feel, regardless of Paterson's belief in his ability to do so.  
  
"He said that he loves me."  Paterson spoke the words out loud, allowing himself, for the first time, to acknowledge them.  
  
"And?"  
  
"I think I love him back."  
  
Doc nodded.  "That's good then.  Love is a good thing to have in common."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is "Fog" by Carl Sandburg.
> 
> The song is Billy Joel's "Only the Good Die Young" you can find it on the [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/harlanhardway/playlist/4fziRRqRwKEo3RibiMfAcf?si=xWd3A5NASKGVWz1GrVD16Q).
> 
> If you haven’t seen the movie “Crash Pad,” you should watch this [this clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Er8s8oLbRU) for some truly quality dancing.


	4. The Standard Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count went up, the story pretty much wraps up here but there's gonna be a short epilogue, so that's what that's about. Also, THE RATING WENT UP!! OMG, consider yourself warned.
> 
> Shout out to my lovely beta reader [MargaretKire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MargaretKire/pseuds/MargaretKire)!

  
  
Ash kissed Paterson's cheek as soon as he walked in the door and took his lunch pail out of his hand.  "Welcome home, Patty."  
  
Paterson kissed him back, just a light brush to the corner of his mouth, before bending down to untie his shoes.  "You know, I've been avoiding that nickname for most of my life."  
  
"Yes, but I'm Irish, so I'm allowed."  
  
"Oh, is that so?"  Straightening up, he caught Ash's hand and pulled him in, pressing a kiss to his ear.  Ash smelled like home.  Paterson would know, he had spent four long deployments dreaming of home.  He knew exactly how it smelled, what it looked and tasted and felt like.  
  
Things had changed between Ash and Paterson over the weeks since the aborted attempt to test Ash's programming.  The situation no longer felt as temporary.  This was Ash's home, he both chose and wanted to be there, just as Paterson chose and wanted him to stay.  It wasn't something they had discussed, but it was understood.  They no longer needed a pretense to show affection.  They were together.  
  
Paterson pulled back, squeezing Ash's hand before releasing him and walking towards the bathroom.  
  
They were together, platonically.  
  
Paterson stripped out of his shirt and turned on the faucet in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping the grime of the day off his face and from the back of his neck.  He pushed his hair back and inspected himself in the mirror, pressing his fingers to the bags under his eyes, turning his head to the side to look at his nose and poking at his mouth.  
  
He turned the water to cold and splashed it over his face again before reaching for a towel.  
  
Ash was so beautiful that sometimes it made Paterson's chest ache.  His mouth was soft, his hands were gentle and his smiles felt like rain, misting across the bone-dry desert.  He was delicate and pale and everytime he flushed it showed up pink and vivid against his skin.  It felt good to hold him, to have Ash in his arms, and sometimes it was tempting to push, just a little bit, to feel more of him and hold him closer.  But Paterson had promised himself that he wouldn't.  
  
He would not disrespect Ash and the trust that Ash had placed in him.  They were different species and their needs were different.  Ash loved him and had chosen to stay and Paterson would never take advantage of that.  If Ash did not have a biological imperative for sex, then that was fine, some humans didn't either.  Paterson had decided some time ago that he was okay with jerking off in the shower for the rest of his life so long as Ash decided to stay.  If pale skin, narrow shoulders and soft, red hair featured prominently in his shower fantasies, then so be it, no one needed to know but him.  
  
After drying his face and throwing on a clean shirt, Paterson stepped back out into the living room.  "Ready to go?"  
  
"Almost!  Yes!"  Ash stumbled out of the office, holding a printout in one hand.  "Okay, good, yes, let's go!"  His hair was pushed up on one side and he almost tripped over the coffee table on his hurry to get to the door, bending down to grab his shoes.  
  
Paterson looked away, clipping the leash onto Marvin's collar and putting his own shoes back on.  Acid-washed skinny jeans had no business looking that good.  
  
"You know where we're going, right?"  
  
"Of course."  Ash smiled as he led the way out the door.  
  
They were going on a shopping trip to pick up a few things for Ash.  He didn't eat or drink in the same way as humans, but he did have other needs.  Saliva, for instance, was a consumable that needed to be replenished, as was synth-skin repair gel, though they hadn't run out of that so much as they had managed to collect almost every shade available, excepting the one matching Ash's skin tone.  Ash had looked online and supposedly found a place that stocked a large selection of synth-skin products so that they could see if they might have better luck color-matching in person.  
  
Paterson had his suspicions about where, exactly, they were headed, but kept them to himself until the storefront actually came into view.  He bit back a smile.  "Are you taking us to RadioShack?"  
  
"They've gotten good reviews."  Ash huffed, defensively.  "It would be unfair of me not to give them a chance."  
  
"Of course."  Paterson grinned as he followed Ash up the street.  
  
They tied Marvin up to a bench outside and went in.  
  
The shop was empty except for one man, presumably and employee, bent over a clipboard in front of the service counter, wearing an oversized t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts and white tube socks pulled all the way up.  It looked like he had gotten dressed out of the same closet as the employee Paterson had met on his previous visit, either that or it was RadioShack policy to dress like it was still 1998.  He was tall and skinny, with bad posture and long, scraggly, unkempt, red hair that had gotten tangled around the back of his employee lanyard.  He checked a few more things off his checklist, then turned around.  
  
Ash tensed and Paterson stepped forward instinctively to put a hand on Ash's shoulder.  
  
The man had cybernetic eyes.  They were old implants, either that or very cheap ones.  Garishly blue and completely lacking in pupils, they didn't even begin to look like organic eyes.  Their focus was jerky and mechanical.  Without the cover of the store's background music, Paterson could even imagine that one might be able to hear them move.  But even old, cheap and outdated, they would be able to see things that human eyes could not.  
  
Which was fine.  
  
Everything was fine.  There was nothing illegal about Ash.  Androids were allowed to exist.  There was nothing to fear.  There was nothing this man, Bill according to his name badge, could do to Ash.  There was nothing Bill, the RadioShack employee, could do to Ash except treat him according to his legal status, which was property.  Legally, Ash was Paterson's property.  
  
It was fine.  They could get through it, or, if it got that bad, they could leave.  
  
The man hadn't said a word since turning around.  He blinked slowly, probably flipping over to a new lense.  His eyes refocused.  
  
Ash stared back in equal interest, his head slowly tilting to the side and his mouth persed, until suddenly he startled and stepped forward.  "Oh, it's you!"  
  
The man shrank back, clutching his clipboard to his chest.  He stumbled around to the other side of the counter, away from them.  "Mattie!"  His voice wavered as he glanced frantically towards the back room.  "Mattie, I need some assistance out front, please!"  
  
A loud crash emanated from behind the door labeled 'Employees Only,' followed by footsteps.  The door swung open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back on its hinges.  Out came the man Paterson recognized from his first visit.  His hair was just as coarse and peroxide yellow and his coke-bottle glasses just as crooked and awkward as Paterson remembered them being and in three long strides he was standing directly front of them, crowding into their space.  Standing up straight for the first time, it became suddenly very clear just how big he was.  He looked tall, strong and also slightly unhinged.  
  
"Is there a problem here?"  The man's head swiveled between Ash and Paterson for a second, before settling on Paterson.  "Was this man harassing you, Techie?  We have a zero tolerance policy on harassment, here at RadioShack.  I could have you banned nationally."  
  
Paterson tried to slowly draw Ash back, behind himself.  "There's no problem here," he glanced down at the man's employee lanyard, "Matt.  We don't want any trouble."  Why on Earth a technophobe would choose to work at a tech supply store was beyond him, but if these people had a problem with androids, Paterson was not about to stick around.  
  
Ash, however, was not allowing himself to be drawn back.  "Patty, it's fine," he squeezed Paterson's hand lightly, then wiggled out from behind him.  "Matt, right?  And Techie?"  The man behind the counter still looked nervous, but his eyes flicked up for a moment at the second name.  "I'm Ash and this is Paterson, we read your column.  Maybe you can help us, we've been having some trouble color matching."  He held up the palm of his hand so they could see the big awkward scar down the heel of it.  
  
Nobody moved for a second, then Bill crept out from behind the counter, his bright blue cybernetic eyes peering at Ash's hand from over Matt's still aggressively looming shoulders.  They clicked in and out a few times, examining.  "You're one of those early simulation models aren't you?  You must have very sensitive skin."  
  
"I do."  
  
Techie leaned forward a little to get a better look, he was incredibly pale, so pale as to be almost sallow.  "You even have freckles, I wasn't made to be nearly so realistic.  Our base-shade might be close, though.  I could show you, if you like."  
  
"Thank you.  That would be much appreciated."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Techie leaned up to whisper something in Matt's ear, then kissed him on the cheek and slipped around him towards the synth-skin display in the back of the store, gesturing Ash to follow, which he did, leaving Matt and Paterson to continue glaring challengingly at each other across a rack of out-dated converter cables.  
  
Paterson went over the previous few minutes of conversation in his head, then made a concerted effort to lower his shoulders and relax back onto his heels.  "You recommended your own column to me."  
  
"It's a good column."  
  
"You're Matt and that's Tech E."  
  
They both looked over towards the other side of the store.  Ash and Techie were deep in conversation, Ash talking and gesturing emphatically, while Techie nodded along, arms folded over his chest, occasionally stopping Ash to make a comment, or explain something with jerky hand gestures.  
  
"He goes by Bill.  Don't call him anything else unless he tells you you can."  
  
Paterson nodded, he was beginning to suspect that low-level hostility was probably just part of Matt's personality.  
  
They watched Ash and Techie in silence for a few minutes, until Techie grabbed something off a shelf and jogged over to them with it.  He put it down on the counter, leaned up to whisper something in Matt's ear and then loped off again.  
  
Paterson looked down at the counter.  Techie had brought over a jar of synth skin repair gel, shade 00237, and a bottle photosensitive matte glaze fixative.  It reminded him that they were supposed to be here on a shopping trip.  "Do you carry synthetic saliva?  We need that too."  
  
Matt nodded, "Wait here," and immediately strode off.  
  
There was some loud banging and clattering in the back room until Matt emerged again, stomping back towards the counter with his arms full.  
  
"Synthetic saliva," Matt held up a blue bottle, scanning it through the register and tucking it away into a plastic shopping bag before Paterson had a chance to inspect it or respond.  "If you run out, don't use tap water.  You could get all kinds of mineral build-up problems and it's not worth it.”  
  
Paterson nodded.  
  
"Synth-skin conditioner," Matt held up the next bottle, scanning it and throwing it in the bag, "designed to protect and repair synth-skin.  It's non-toxic, but not great for humans so don't fall asleep with it on you or you'll regret it."  
  
"Okay."  Paterson could not imagine a scenario where that would be a problem, but it was good to know.  
  
"Synth-skin lubricant," Matt scanned a another bottle and put in the bag, "non-toxic and non-corrosive, but it does not do well once it dries, so you'll have to help him clean it off."  
  
"Wha--"  
  
"Artificial semen replacement," Matt barreled on while Paterson almost choked on his own spit, "we have his factory-recommended brand in stock and I would be careful about trying anything after-market until you're certain it's compatible."  
  
Paterson spent the next few seconds coughing and getting ahold of himself as Matt scanned in the syth-skin gel and fixative.  When he finally looked up again, Matt was staring at him expectantly from across the counter.  "That'll be $153.67.  Or, if you want to sign up for a rewards card, I can take seven percent off.  We just need a phone number and your first and last name."  
  
Paterson blinked a few times, then sighed in defeat, rattling off his phone number and handing over his credit card without further comment.  He had no idea what Ash's artificial semen replacement needs were.  Maybe Ash needed some and had been too embarrassed to bring it up.  Either that or Matt was making inappropriate assumptions.  It didn't matter.  Regardless, Paterson was not about to debate the details of his and Ash's sex life, or lack thereof, with Matt, the Robot Technician, in the middle of a Radioshack.  If Matt and Techie had that kind of a relationship, then good for them.  He and Ash didn't and that was fine.  He would rather chew off his own arm than make Ash think it wasn't fine.  
  
Thanking Matt, who grunted and glared back at him, Paterson took his receipt and his shopping and went to wait by the exit.  Ash joined him a minute or two later, waving goodbye to Techie and getting a shy, "Have a nice day," in return.  
  
Grabbing a quick glance back as he held the door open for Ash, Paterson half-expected to see Matt still staring them down from behind the register, but he wasn't.  Matt seemed to have completely forgotten about them and was instead carefully helping Techie untangle his long red hair from the back of his lanyard.  From a distance, it even almost looked like he was smiling.  
  
Paterson let the door close behind them.  
  
_What a strange pair._  
  
Once outside, they collected Marvin, who sniffed curiously at the shopping bag a few times before losing interest, then started back towards the house.  
  
It took a few blocks before either of them said anything.  Paterson was busy trying to decide whether what he had just purchased qualified as a bag full of android sex supplies or not and was coming to the conclusion that it probably did, when Ash nudged him in the side with his elbow.  
  
He smiled smugly and wiggled his eyebrows.  "I told you they were together."  
  
Paterson laughed, carefully shifting the shopping bag to his other hand.  "Yeah.  I guess you were right."  
  
*****  
  
Paterson left for the bar alone that night and spent the next few hours putting the whole incident into perspective.  He decided it had been a lucky break, more than anything else.  Techie and Matt were a little odd, but they seemed happy enough.  It would be useful to have someone to go to if anything went terribly wrong and Ash needed major repairs for whatever reason.  Matt probably even meant well, though he did assume a lot.  
  
The shower was running when Paterson came back home.  That wasn't entirely uncommon.  Ash didn't need to shower daily, but when he did, it was often in the evening.  Paterson took off his shoes, grabbed a glass of cold water out of the kitchen and collapsed onto the couch, picking his book up from where he'd left it on the coffee table.  He was working his way through a collection of William Shakespeare's tragedies, but it was taking him a while.  Everyone who liked poetry was supposed to like Shakespeare, but he had never felt very connected to it.  
  
The water in the bathroom turned off and Paterson listened to Ash rummaging around in the medicine cabinet while he got dressed.  The bathroom door opened and Paterson looked up, then immediately down again.  He stared at his book, glanced quickly in Ash's direction, then looked away again.  
  
_Stop it.  You're being ridiculous.  There is no reason to be embarrassed._  
  
Paterson had seen Ash in nothing but a pair of novelty boxer shorts plenty of times before, had even, on one rather memorable occasion, helped pull a splinter out of his ass, which had been just as soft and pale and round as he had ever imagined.  But that was really not the point.  The point was: Ash lived here too and had every right to wander through the living room on a warm evening in just his underwear.  Or sit on the couch in just his underwear.  In just Paterson's underwear.  Because that was definitely Paterson's underwear.  Paterson did all of the shopping and could recognize his own black briefs.  They didn't even fit Ash particularly well.  The waistband was much too loose.  
  
But that was fine.  Paterson wasn't possessive of his clothes.  Ash could do what he liked and if Paterson had problems concentrating on his now even more uninteresting edification project, then that was Paterson's problem.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Paterson looked up.  Ash had sat down next to him on the couch and was smiling, his damp hair already drying into soft curls around his face.  It was always a little bit curly right after it dried, until Ash had a chance to comb it down flat again, taming it with some sort of conditioner.  Paterson loved his curls.  
  
He leaned closer to kiss him.  "How was your shower?"  
  
Like all their kisses, it was close-mouthed and chaste.  But Ash's lips were soft and sweet and it made Paterson's head was spin slightly to pulled away.  Ash was definitely wearing his underwear.  He didn't know what it meant, exactly, but he liked it.  
  
  
"Good."  Ash answered.  He tongued at his bottom lip for a second, then climbed abruptly into Paterson's lap.  
  
They had cuddled on the couch before.  Ever since the aborted attempt to go against Ash's Administrative imperative, they had taken to leaning up against each other while Paterson read aloud.  They had occupied each others' space while they watched the Nova specials Ash liked so much.  They regularly crowded together on the same half of the couch, sometimes they even kissed.  
  
However.  
  
Ash had never straddled Paterson's lap before, or ground down onto it while he licked at Paterson's mouth and ran his teeth along Paterson's jaw line.  He had never gripped at Paterson’s hair or bracketed Paterson’s hips between his bare thighs.  Paterson was overwhelmed.  His hands grasped at Ash’s shoulders, his waist, his sides, uncertain where or how he was allowed to touch and he groaned when all he was met with was the smoothness of Ash's soft, warm skin.  
  
Ash's fingers worked on the buttons of Paterson’s shirt, popping them open one by one, before he ran his hands up Paterson’s chest and down his arms to unbutton his cuffs.  "Lean forward."  He whispered, pulling the hem of Paterson's undershirt out of his pants and stripping it off him, over his head, when he did.  
  
Now chest to chest, Paterson pulled Ash flush against him, like he had always wanted to do.  He could feel static-hum of him, the warmth, the way their shoulders fit together, Ash's folding perfectly inside his arms.  Ash ground down again, and Paterson knew Ash could feel his dick, hard against his ass.  It was too deliberate.  The way he rolled his body was too suggestive.  He did it again and again, riding Paterson's cock, rolling his hips up so that his own erection dug into Paterson's stomach.  Putting his hands on Ash's hips, Paterson guided his thrusts, rocking into them.  
  
"Ash... Ash..."  He panted into Ash's mouth, trying to get his thoughts to form.  "Are you sure?  Is this... are you sure?"  
  
"Patty," Ash replied, leaning back to speak.  
  
If there was more, Paterson didn't catch it, his hearing shorted out for a few seconds while he stared.  Ash's chest was flushed pink all the way down to his naval, his mouth swollen and kiss-bitten and his hair wild, like someone had been pawing at it, which Paterson had vague ideas might have been him.  A trail of orange hair led down his stomach to where Paterson's black briefs were falling off his hips, barely covering the erection that was still pushing against Paterson's stomach.  
  
Ash caught one of Paterson's hands in his own, steadying against Paterson's shoulder.  He licked his lips.  Paterson tracked the movement, enthralled by Ash's pink tongue as he felt Ash guide his hand back and down, below the waistband of his underwear, Paterson's underwear.  Paterson's black briefs that were covering Ash's perfect, round ass.  It was so small that Paterson's hand could almost curve all the way around both cheeks.  He cupped it possessively, his fingers slipping into the crack as Ash rocked back.  
  
It was wet.  
  
There was a slickness between Ash's cheeks as he pushed back onto Paterson's hand and Paterson's breath caught.  He looked up.  Ash was looking right back at him.  Holding Paterson’s gaze, he slowly, carefully, guided one of Paterson's fingers deeper, touching it to his entrance, and then, very gently, inside.  "I want you to take me to bed.  Will you do that?  Do you want to?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
They barely made it.  If Paterson hadn't stood up with Ash still in his lap and walked them both immediately into the bedroom, they probably wouldn't have.  As it was, it was shamefully brief.    
  
Ash was so warm and soft and tight and perfect and it was all so unexpected and overwhelming and everything Paterson had never thought he would be able to have, that he barely managed more than a minute before coming, collapsing onto his side and clutching Ash to his chest.  
  
Still shaking and breathing hard, it took a little while for Paterson to pull himself back together, but as he did, he slowly started to feel more and more self-conscious.  "Sorry that was so fast."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
"What can I..."  He ran his hand down Ash's flank, sliding it forward, between Ash's legs, then stopped.  Ash wasn't hard anymore.  "Did you... is everything okay?"  
  
"What, yes.  Why?"  Ash rolled over to look at him.  He followed Paterson's gaze down to his lap and his very noticeable lack of arousal.  "Oh, I thought we were done, so I made it go away."  
  
"What?  Why?"  
  
Ash frowned, looking confused.  "I'm sorry.  I can make sure it doesn't go away next time."  
  
"No!  No."  Paterson felt suddenly light-headed.  Ash had found the bag.  Of course he had found the bag, Paterson hadn't made any attempt to hide it.  Ash had found the bag and gone through it.  They should have talked as soon as they got back from the store.  Paterson should have made it more clear that this was not expected of him.  Of course Ash would assume that this was expected of him.  "Was this even something you wanted?  Or was it just something you thought I wanted?" Paterson began edging himself away, trying to process what had just happened.    
  
Ash's expression went from confused to worried.  "Was it that bad?"  
  
"I shouldn't have forced you to do this.  I'm sorry."  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
Then Ash turned away, climbing off the other side of the bed and walking stiffly over to the closet where he kept his clothes.  He pulled on a pair of his own blue cotton boxer shorts, a T-shirt and sweatpants, not once looking in Paterson's direction.  "I'm going to start dinner."  
  
He made his way to the door, his voice was cold.  "And Paterson?” He paused there, still not turning around.  “Don't ever think that you can make me do anything I don't want to do."  
  
With that, he stalked out of the room.  
  
*****  
  
The rest of the evening progressed in something of a stormy silence.  Ash made dinner and sat with Paterson at the table while he ate.  They took Marvin out for a short walk around the block, then Paterson sat in the living room and tried to read for a while before the silence finally got to him and he turned in.  
  
He lay in bed staring up at the ceiling.  They'd had sex and it had been... not good.  And now Ash was pissed at him.  He had a right to be pissed.  Paterson had come in under sixty seconds and then freaked out.  
  
A sliver of light shown out from under the bedroom door as Ash flicked on the light in the hall.  It went out again.  Paterson listened to bathroom door close and the water turn on.  Ash rarely used the bathroom at night.  He rarely used the bathroom in general, but if he needed to wash, he generally did it during the day.  Maybe he'd gotten something stuck in his eye.  That thought led to visions of Ash with his back stretched out under Paterson's hands and his face pushed forward into the pillow.  Paterson had really fucked up.  He'd fucked up such a good thing.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
Paterson sat up.  _Fuck._  
  
What had Matt said about making sure to help Ash clean up afterwards?  
  
_Fucking Matt.  Fuck.  Fucking Matt the fucking Robot Technician._  
  
_Fuck._  
  
Paterson stumbled out of bed and towards the bathroom, stubbing his toe on the way and swearing under his breath.  On the plus side, at least he was all the way awake by the time he made it to the door.  
  
He knocked quietly.  "Ash?"  
  
"If you need to pee, you can do it in the yard.  I'm not in the mood."  
  
"Ash,"  Paterson sighed, leaning his forehead against the door.  "I'm sorry about earlier.  I was embarrassed and I overreacted.  Please let me help you."  
  
"You don't get to just make decisions for me all the time."  
  
"I know, I'm sorry."  
  
"Just because I'm not good at sex, doesn't mean I don't want to have it.  Normal couples have bad sex all the time and they don't stop having it."  
  
"You're very good at sex, Ashley."  
  
"You didn't seem to think so.  Or were you just doing it because you thought it was something I wanted?"  He threw Paterson's own question back in his face.  
  
"No, Ashley, of course I wanted to have sex with you.  I was just embarrassed and worried and... can we not be having this conversation through a door?"  
  
There was a moment of silence as Ash considered this, then the click of the door being unlocked.  
  
Paterson took this as enough of an invitation and went inside.  He blinked against the harsh light of the bathroom and then again at the sight that greeted him when he came in.  Ash was naked.  He had taken off his T-shirt and sweatpants and folded them up neatly on the counter.  One foot was up on the seat of the toilet and he was using a damp washcloth to scrub at the dried mess of come and lube that had crusted between his legs.  His skin looked red and irritated, not enough to qualify as a rash, but more than enough for Paterson to feel guilty about all over again.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Ash didn’t respond, just glared at him over his shoulder.  
  
Paterson picked through the bottles that were spread out on the counter.  They were the same ones he had bought earlier: saliva, semen, synth-skin conditioner, lube, repair gell, and finishing spray.  Only the conditioner and the finishing spray hadn't been opened.  He sighed again.  
  
"Oh, give it a rest, you're not a facking martyr."  Ash's accent always got more pronounced when he was agitated.  
  
"I know, it's just, we should have gone over this together.  I didn't mean for you to..."  
  
"Shut it Paterson.  You weren't gonna make a move so I did.  I may have bollixed it up, but I at least tried.  That's more than you can say."  He flinched as the washcloth caught on something sticky and it pulled at the skin between his legs.  
  
"Hey, be gentle.  Here, this is supposed to be good for your skin."  Paterson grabbed the synth-skin conditioner off the counter and opened the bottle, cracking the plastic seal and peeling off the wrapper.  He hesitated before pouring any out onto his hand, though.  He wasn't sure his touch would be entirely welcome anymore.  "May I?"  
  
Ash glanced at Paterson over his shoulder, considering, then straightened up, stretched out his back for a second and repositioned himself with both feet on the ground, hunched over the counter.  He nodded.  "It's crusty and miserable and I hate it."  
  
"I know, I'm..."  Ash glared at Paterson pointedly in the mirror.  Changing tactics, Paterson bent down to kiss Ash lightly on the shoulder, "I wish I had taken better care of you."  He poured some of the conditioner out onto his hand and started spreading it over Ash's thighs and ass, massaging it carefully into the skin.  
  
It was a little awkward at first.  Ash was stiff and unhappy and Paterson was tired, nervous and still slightly embarrassed.  But the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Ash further, so he took his time and went slowly and after awhile, it got better.  Ash began to relax against the counter, spreading his legs further apart and letting his head drop down to rest against his arms.  His skin was soft to begin with, but it got softer as Paterson worked in the conditioner, wiping it clean periodically with a damp cloth.  
  
Paterson paused to pour a little more lotion out onto his fingers, running his free hand reassuringly up Ash's back.  "Is this okay?"  
  
"Mmm."  Ash nodded against his forearms, shifting his legs a little further apart.  
  
Paterson worked his way upwards, cleaning the dried lube and semen from Ash's legs, wiping clean his inner thighs, his ass, his taint and rubbing lotion in carefully until there wasn't anything left but smooth, warm skin, Ash's smooth, warm skin.  Paterson had to turn his hips away as he grew hard in his sleeping pants.  Hopefully Ash wouldn't notice.  Though Ash probably wouldn't care anyway.  Ash was very straight-forward about those sorts of things.  
  
"Do you think I got all of it?"  Paterson hesitated before removing his hand.  
  
Ash didn't even pause, just tilted his hips up slightly and pressed his chest down onto the counter.  "You should check inside."    
  
"Okay."  
  
Any hope Paterson might have had of willing down his growing erection disappeared the second he pressed a finger into Ash's hot, wet, warmth.  Ash rolled his hips as he did it, fucking himself back onto Paterson's finger in a way that could by no means be misinterpreted.  
  
"Patty," Ash's voice hitched as Paterson added a second finger, gently feeling around inside, "would you like to try again?"  
  
Paterson used his free hand to push Ash's ass cheeks apart so he could see where his fingers were disappearing in and out.  He could feel Ash shift to watch them in the mirror.  His eyes were green and his face flushed, his mouth pink and bitten.  Ash's shoulders flexed as he pushed himself back against Paterson's hand.  Paterson continued to watch his fingers disappear into Ash's body.  He could see the outline of his own erection reflected in the mirror, glaringly obvious.  "I would.  If that's something you would like, too."  
  
Ash smiled and hummed, his eyes going hooded and glassy.  "I would."  
  
It took a few more minutes before Paterson trusted himself enough to add a third finger.  He was achingly hard, but so long as Ash was flushed and bucking under his fingers, Paterson wasn't going to stop.  He could always jerk off to the memory of it later.  For now, whatever Ash liked, whatever Ash thought felt good, Paterson was going to keep doing.  
  
"Okay, okay, that's enough."  Ash reached back and guided Paterson's hand out of himself, then turned around in the circle of Paterson's arms and kissed him, climbing up on the counter and pulling Paterson's pants and underwear down.  "Get yourself ready."  Paterson slicked himself up while Ash lay back against the counter, drawing Paterson closer with his heels.  
  
Pushing in was just as sweet and tight and perfect as it had been the first time, but this time Paterson rolled his eyes up, bit his lip and concentrated on controlling himself.  Ash's cock was hard and flushed against his stomach and Paterson hadn't even touched it yet, not once.  He reached out and Ash bucked under his hand as soon as he made contact, shivering and flexing around Paterson, who was still hot and hard inside him.  
  
Ash was not a human.  He was similar, but not the same.  The things he did and the things he liked would be different.  They were different.  But that didn't mean they couldn't also be compatible.  
  
Paterson circled the head of Ash's dick with his thumb.  It was pretty, flushed pink and uncut, about average.  Paterson wondered briefly if it was based off of some forty-year-old dick-pick that Ash's Source Model had once sent, or if Ash had a genuine, statistically average penis.  He stroked it gently.  It was soft and velvety, like Ash's lips and Paterson thought about what it might feel like to kiss.  
  
Ash rolled his hips, prodding Paterson closer and taking him deeper and deeper until Paterson could feel his balls pressing up against Ash's ass.  He tried to stay concentrated on stroking Ash's cock, on making Ash feel good.  But then Ash braced his hands against the mirror and started popping his hips up and down, moaning and flexing like Paterson had only ever thought possible in online porn and twerk videos.  The counter shook and Paterson's eyes crossed.  He was suddenly so close to the edge his fingers were tingling.  
  
"Oh, God."  Paterson's hands clamped firmly around Ash's hips, holding him still as he collapsed forward, pinning Ash against the counter with his weight and kissing him until he felt like he could breathe again without coming.  He panted into Ash's mouth and against his sharp cheekbones, willing himself to calm down, then pulled back to see Ash's face.  
  
Ash was staring up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.  He had beautiful long, golden eyelashes.  Paterson wanted to feel them against his skin.  He wanted to fall asleep to those soft green eyes and wake up to them in the morning, wanted everything with Ash that he could possibly have.  
  
He slowly eased himself back, out of Ash's body, and pressed back in again, brushing his thumbs reassuringly over Ash's hip bones.  "Is this okay?  It's been a while and you're so... is this okay?"  
  
Ash nodded.  
  
They stayed like that for a few minutes, finding a rhythm together, watching each other's faces and slowly feeling each other out.  Ash brought his hands down from where they had been pressed against the bathroom mirror and placed them tentatively on Paterson's forearms.  He rocked his hips forward to match Paterson's rhythm, but stayed uncharacteristically quiet, staring up at Paterson, unblinking.  
  
"Is this okay, Ashley?  What do you need?  I want it to be good for you."  
  
Ash shifted his legs a little and Paterson brought one of them up over his shoulder, turning his head to the side to kiss his knee.  He was still gently stroking Ash’s hip.  Ash slid one hand down Paterson’s arm to feel his fingers, where they were touching him.  
  
"Patty?"  Ash’s voice was soft, but it sounded loud in the quiet room, the only other noises being Paterson’s breathing and the sounds of their bodies coming together.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What is this?"  
  
"It's..."  Paterson almost stopped moving, but Ash bucked up into his hands and pulled him closer, keeping their rhythm going and their eyes locked.  "We're having sex, Ash.  Are you okay with that?"  
  
"This isn't what it normally looks like."  
  
"Not all sex is like porn.  We can try something different, if you want.  But you might have to be patient with me."  
  
"No.  This is nice."  Ash touched one hand to Paterson's face, tracing his lips and the line of his eyebrows and brushing his hair back behind his ears.  "I like this."  
  
It took a long time for Ash to come.  Technically, according to him, he could do it on demand, as often and as quickly as he needed to, but to actually orgasim in a meaningful way, to trick his body into creating a positive-reinforcement feedback loop, which seemed to be the only appropriate equivalent, was much more difficult.  Touching was good, as was closeness, erogenous zones seemed to be mostly irrelevant.  Ash didn’t have a prostate, he liked having Paterson inside of him because they were closer that way.  
  
Paterson kissed Ash's face and whispered secrets into his skin, running his hands over Ash's legs and up his sides, telling him how perfect he was, how wonderful he felt and how much Paterson loved having him in his arms.  Until, gradually, Ash began to come apart, like a slow-motion car crash.   The radio next to the sink turned on and Ash pulled Paterson down on top of him, dragging him against his chest and bucking up into him like he was trying to grind them together into one person.  
  
When Paterson felt the hot sticky pulse of Ash shooting artificial semen between them, that was the end of his self-control.  He buried himself as deeply as he could in Ash's body and came as well.  
  
They were both blissed out and groggy when Paterson finally let Ash's legs down and helped ease him off the counter.  The door to the bathroom was open and Paterson could hear that speakers all over the house had turned themselves on.  Most of them were just playing static, but some of them weren't.  There was a rainstorm coming from the kitchen and a bird chirping in the living room.  He could even hear his own voice, somewhere in the house, reciting Tennyson.  
  
_Our echoes roll from soul to soul,_  
_And grow forever and forever._  
  
Paterson smiled into the crook of Ash's neck and kissed him.  Ash smiled back, blearily, still looking somewhat vacant, the sound of falling snow drifting up from the speakers next to the sink.  Paterson smiled even wider and ducked down to kiss the flush on Ash's cheekbones.  "Do you take requests?"  
  
"Hmm?"  Ash tilted his head up inquisitively.  It took him a second to notice the speakers, but when he did, he flushed even darker, rolling his eyes.  "Maybe if you ask especially nicely."  
  
"May I make a request?"  
  
"Fine, but if you say Phil Collins I'll laugh at you and we may never have sex again."  
  
"Come to bed with me."  
  
Ash blinked.  "How do you mean?"  
  
"Come to bed with me," Paterson repeated, taking Ash's hand.  "Lie next to me.  It doesn't have to be the whole night, or even every night.  But I want to share a bed with you."  
  
Ash opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, letting out the breath he had taken without saying anything.  He blinked slowly, scrunching his eyes up in sort of a funny way and pulling Paterson close, pressing his face into Paterson's bare shoulder and nodding.  
  
Paterson ran his hand gently up Ash's back.  "Okay, then let's get cleaned up and go to bed."  
  
Ash nodded a second time, his hair tickling Paterson's ear and his whole body humming with warmth.  
  
*****  
  
Paterson woke up the next morning to Ash playing with his hair.  He smiled without opening his eyes and reached across the bed to pull him closer, letting his hand rest on Ash's breastbone and tracing the line of his clavicle with his thumb.  Ash tensed under his hand for a second, then drew in a careful, measured breath, letting it out slowly and deliberately before taking in another.  
  
Paterson yawned and snuggled in closer, not awake enough to come anywhere close to being able to guess what might be wrong and hoping proximity would make it better.  He blinked his eyes open and tried to rub his hand reassuringly across Ash's chest.  It was strange, how Ash didn't breath and didn't have a heartbeat, but it was even stranger when he pretended he did.  Ash didn't sleep, didn't eat, didn't yawn or drink coffee, but he was warm and soft and liked to be touched.  He liked to listen to people talk and found rain soothing.  He hated shouting, thought pop punk bands were sellouts and couldn't be trusted around horror films without becoming so paranoid that he and Paterson once had to have a long talk about how it was perfectly safe for Paterson to go out of the house alone at night, even without a cell phone, so long as he promised to keep a look-out for clowns.  
  
They watched each other across the pillow, Ash playing with Paterson's hair and Paterson rubbing his thumb gently across Ash's breastbone as Ash gradually allowed his breathing to slow and then stop.  When his chest stilled, Paterson smiled, tucking a strand of Ash’s hair behind his ear and smoothing it back.  His eyelashes caught the morning light and glowed gold.  Paterson loved him.  He could feel it burning in his chest, warming him like a pilot light.  He loved him so much.  
  
"Good morning, Ashley."  
  
Ash leaned forward to kiss him.  "I've never seen anyone wake up before."  
  
Then they both jumped when something slammed hard into the closed bedroom door.  They turned to look, just in time for Marvin to start whining and scratching at it piteously from the other side.  
  
Ash burst out laughing, kissing Paterson on the side of the nose and jumping out of bed, his smile bright and much too sunny for that hour of the morning.  
  
Paterson gazed up at Ash sleepily, feeling a bit lost about what had just happened, but happy that Ash was happy.  He was used to feeling a bit lost when it came to relationships.  His emotions didn't turn very quickly and it often felt like he was constantly trailing one or two steps behind his partner.  It didn't bother him so much with Ash, though.  Ash was patient and understood.  
  
Ash leaned down to kiss him again.  "Go get ready for work, Patty, I'll feed the dog."  
  
After that, their morning routine continued much as normal.  Paterson took a shower, shaved and dressed while Ash started the coffee and laid out breakfast: dry whole wheat toast, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, two hard boiled eggs and half a cup of plain yogurt.  Paterson smiled and shook his head when he saw it, walking up behind where Ash stood at the kitchen sink and kissing his shoulder.  "Have you been reading up on cholesterol again?"  
  
"Cholesterol is terrifying."  
  
"I know.  I'm surprised there aren't any horror films about it yet."  
  
Ash flicked water at him and chased him off towards the table.  
  
A few minutes later, Ash sat down next to Paterson carrying his customary cup of hot water with cinnamon.  He didn't drink it, but he said he liked how it smelled and the way it kept his hands warm.  It was a habit he had developed over the winter.  
  
"I was thinking about Shakespeare last night," Ash started.  He often followed along with whatever Paterson was reading, though sometimes less enthusiastically than others.  
  
"Anything in particular?"    
  
"Romeo and Juliet, the bit about," Ash gestured between the two of them, as if in explanation.  
  
Paterson raised an eyebrow, questioningly, _"Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene?_ "  
  
"The bit about the bird and the fish."  
  
"I don't think I know that part."  
  
"Sure you do.  _A bird may love a fish, but where would they live_?  That bit."  
  
Paterson looked at him askance for a second before laughing and taking a drink of coffee.  "I'm pretty sure that's from Fiddler on the Roof."  
  
Ash frowned.  His eyes went distant for a second as he double checked, then he blinked and made a face.  "I hate the internet sometimes.  Fine.  Well, it still applies.  Romeo and Juliet are supposed to be like a bird and the fish, right?  They fall in love but they can't be together because of their tragic, star-crossed circumstances.  But, honestly, how star-crossed were they?  Their parents didn't like each other and that was it.  All they had to do was leave and it wouldn't have been a problem.  But, no, they spent the whole play moaning about their tragic circumstances and then, of course, they cock it up and everybody dies."  
  
"I think that's why it's supposed to be so tragic, because it was also so pointless."  
  
"Well, either way," Ash made a face, clearly conveying what his thoughts were on the subject of Shakespeare, "I think William Blake gave much better advice about love."  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
_"If the Sun & Moon should Doubt _  
_Theyd immediately Go out"_  
  
Paterson smiled and nodded into his coffee.  "That is much better."  
  
Ash leaned over to kiss his cheek, and then got up to let Marvin in from the back yard.  
  
A few minutes later, Paterson had laced up his work boots, grabbed his lunch off the kitchen counter, kissed Ash goodbye and was headed for the door when he passed by the mirror in the hallway and caught a glimpse of his reflection.  It gave him pause.  There was nothing discernibly different about the way he looked.  He looked much the same as he always did: tall, his dark hair was tucked neatly behind his too-large ears and his blue uniform shirt with the metro-bus logo stitched over the breast pocket was tucked neatly into his blue uniform pants.  He wore a watch and carried an aluminum lunch pail.  He was clean.  His boots had recently been resoled and he had a big nose.  There was nothing particularly extraordinary or remarkable about him.  He wasn't going to ever get rich, save the world, or cure cancer.  
  
Paterson looked back towards the kitchen, where Ash was putting away the breakfast dishes.  "You know I'm just a bus driver, right?"  
  
Ash quirked an eyebrow in confusion.  "Yes?"  
  
"I'm not likely to ever be much more than a bus driver."  
  
Ash continued to look at him like he was crazy.  "What more is there?  Helios was a bus driver."  
  
"I'm pretty sure he wasn't."  
  
Ash rolled his eyes dramatically and walked over, right into Paterson's space, putting his hands around Paterson's neck and giving him an exaggerated, long-suffering stare, like he couldn't believe how ridiculous Paterson was being.  "Pattie, I'm in a wonderful mood.  I love you and I love that you're happy.  I love your big, goofy smile and your crooked teeth and one day I am going to write you a song and call it 'My Love is the Sun,' and it will be about you because that's what you are to me and since it's my opinion, you aren't allowed to tell me I'm wrong."  
  
He pulled Paterson close, kissed him soundly and then pushed him out the door.  "Now go to work, have a beautiful day and come home to me in one piece."  
  
By the time Paterson reached the street, he was smiling so widely, he thought his face might split in half.  
  
*****  
  
A few days later, Ash went with Paterson to Doc's bar.  He didn't come all the time, but sometimes he liked to listen to music on the jukebox and watch people play pool.  He even joined in, on occasion, though he wasn't particularly good.  He always bought a beer and generally drank most of it.  It was the only time Paterson ever saw him consume anything.  He said it wasn't harmful and the taste wasn't actually all that bad, but he found the process of waste disposal to be rather inconvenient and thus generally preferred to avoid it.  It put people at ease, though, to see him drink when he was at a bar.  
  
Ash had wandered over to the jukebox and Paterson watched him deliberate over the song list, inspecting it carefully as if it might have somehow changed since the week before, when Doc suddenly appeared at his elbow.  "You two work some things out?"  
  
Paterson glanced around.  How Doc always managed to sneak up on him was a mystery.  "Maybe."  
  
"You've been coming in here every day for five years and I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've heard you use the word maybe.  You either have, you haven't, or you didn't try."  
  
The corner of Paterson's mouth quirked up and he shook his head ruefully, then nodded.  "Yes.  We worked some things out."  
  
"Had the big 'I love you too' talk, then?  How'd that go?"  
  
Paterson didn't say anything.  
  
After a while, Doc snorted.  "You really have a hard time with this communication thing, don't you?"  
  
He laughed outright when Paterson stood up.  "Good for you, no time like the present," he told Paterson's retreating back.  But Paterson was already walking over to Ash at the jukebox.  
  
Paterson wrapped his arms around Ash from behind and rested his chin on Ash's shoulder.  Ash was a little shorter, but not by much and it always felt like they fit together just perfectly.  He stood there for a second, enjoying it, before he asking,  "Would you like to dance?"  
  
Ash turned around Paterson's arms.  His eyes were soft and warm and as he smiled, Paterson could see the laugh lines that formed in their corners, made deeper by the dim lighting.  "I don't know, Patty.  My dancing skills are pretty amazing, I wouldn't want to show you up."  
  
"I'll take my chances."  He reached around, behind Ash's back and clicked a few buttons to select a song, then took Ash by the hand.  The opening lines of a classic seventies pop rock ballad started spilling out into the bar.  
  
_I know your eyes in the morning sun_  
_I feel you touch me in the pouring rain_  
  
Ash giggled as Paterson lead them in a slow, shuffling circle next to the pool table.  But as the song went on, he sobered, looking into Paterson's eyes in that unblinking way of his and letting the silliness fall to the side.  By the time the chorus came around for the second time, he wasn't even smiling anymore.  
  
_How deep is your love, how deep is your love_  
_How deep is your love?_  
  
Ash blinked once and looked down.  His eyelashes seemed to almost glow against the paleness of his cheeks.  "If this is a joke, it's not very funny."  
  
"There is no joke."  
  
Ash took half a step back, not quite dropping Paterson's hand, but almost.  "Paterson--"  
  
"I love you."  
  
_Cause we're living in a world of fools_  
_Breaking us down_  
_When they all should let us be_  
_We belong to you and me_  
  
Carefully drawing him in close again, Paterson pressed a kiss to the corner of Ash's eye.  "I've loved you for a long time.  I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."  
  
Ash mouth was turned down into almost a sob and his eyes were wide, wider than any human's eyes could ever open.  Paterson knew those eyes.  They were beautiful and delicate and strange, but not alien.  He knew them.  He knew them and he loved them.  "I love you."  
  
Allowing himself to be wrapped up in Paterson's arms, Ash pressed his face into Paterson's shoulder.  "Don't say that if it's not true."  Paterson could feel Ash's eyelashes fluttering lightly, leaving butterfly kisses against his neck.  
  
"I love you, Ashley.  I love you.  Please stay with me."  
  
"How long?"  
  
“How long have I loved you?”  
  
“No, how long will you want me to stay.”  Ash’s hands, which had been hanging loose at his sides, picked at Paterson’s shirt, like he wanted, but was too afraid to reach for him.  
  
"As long as you’ll have me."  
  
"Androids don’t fall out of love, Paterson."  
  
“I know that’s not true.”  
  
Ash shook his head, rubbing it against Paterson's chin like a cat.  "It is for me."  
  
"Then, will you stay?"  
  
“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The standard error is the standard deviation of a data set for which you only have sample data. Said differently, it’s the measure of the statistical accuracy of an estimate.
> 
> The poems are Alfred Lord Tennyson's "The Splendor Falls" and William Blake's "Auguries of Innocence."
> 
> The song is "How Deep is Your Love" by the Bee Gees. It's on the [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/harlanhardway/playlist/4fziRRqRwKEo3RibiMfAcf?si=xWd3A5NASKGVWz1GrVD16Q).
> 
> The ending scene is based on [this comic by Jeusus](https://tiniestbutt.tumblr.com/post/169798701239/more-paterson-found-the-synthetic-in-the-trash) Their head-canons for Ashterson are slightly different than mine, but they were kind enough to let me reference their image anyways. You should go check out their stuff.


	5. Signal Processing in Continuous Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the wonderful world of Matt the Robot Technician POV. Spoiler warning for Prometheus(2012) and Alien: Covenant(2017), I guess.

  
  
"Ash sort of looks like you."  
  
Techie stirred from where he had been quietly hibernating, eyes closed, with his head resting against Matt's chest.  "Really, you think so?"  
  
They were sprawled out on the couch together, the _Assassin's Creed_ movie playing in the background.  "You don't think it's weird that you're both redheads with the same height and the exact same skin tone?"  
  
"Hmm..."  Techie rolled over, so he could look between Matt and the television.  He watched Michael Fassbender run through the streets of a fictionalized 15th century Spain, then glanced up at Matt again.  "I think you just liked _Alien: Covenant_ a little bit too much and it's affecting your judgement."  
  
Matt scoffed.  "As if.  That movie was dumb."  
  
"Oh, so Michael Fassbender playing twin androids that make out, that does nothing for you?  It's totally irrelevant to this conversation?"  
  
Matt hesitated.  
  
"I liked David 8," Techie continued, "but not with Walter.  Where's the fun if they both look the same?  David should have gotten with an Engineer.  That would have been hot."  
  
"The murderous android and the giant albino alien: you think they should've banged?"  
  
"Definitely."  Techie reached out to take Matt's glasses off his face.  He folded them neatly and put them on the side table, before sitting up to straddle Matt's lap and kissing him.  
  
Matt cradled Techie's hips with his hands.  He loved Techie and he loved his kisses, loved them enough to allow himself to be distracted by them.  Or at least, momentarily distracted.  He pulled back.  "But the Engineer ripped David 8's head off!  David was trying to communicate and he just ripped his head off and tossed him to the side!"  
  
"So?  He only tried to talk to him the one time.  You could have tossed me to the side, when we first met."  Techie snuggled down onto Matt's chest again, turning his face towards the back of the couch with his ear over Matt's heart, no longer even pretending to pay attention to the movie.  
  
"Yeah, but I didn't!"  
  
"I know."  Techie hummed in agreement and closed his eyes, snaking his hands up Matt's t-shirt to pet his chest.  "That's probably why our story has such a different ending."  
  
"I'm not sure how I feel about this comparison you're making."  Matt grumbled, shifting around a bit as he tried to find a more comfortable position with Techie's weight on his chest.  "I guess that Engineer was pretty stacked, though, like me."  
  
"Mmhm."  Techie poked at the chub that had slowly started to pad out Matt's six pack over the past few years.  
  
"Hey, I'm on a muscle building cycle.  You can't cut fat and build muscle at the same time, this is totally normal."  
  
"I like it."  Techie smiled, worming his way down Matt's chest so his head was resting just over Matt's diaphragm.  "You make for a much nicer pillow when you're like this: big and strong, but also just a tiny bit squishy."  
  
"I'm not supposed to be squishy."  Matt squinted down at the top of Techie's head.  Everything was one big blur to him without his glasses on.  He reached out towards the more orange-looking part of the blur and Techie, with the ease of having spent many years in bed next to someone with terrible eyesight, intercepted it and placed it on his head.  
  
Sighing, Matt gave up on trying to see and looked at the ceiling instead, tangling his fingers in Techie's hair and running a thumb across his hairline.  "Does it bother you?"  
  
Techie rubbed his face against Matt's stomach and settled himself more firmly into his position between Matt's legs.  "I just told you, I like it."  
  
"I'm forty.  From here on out it's only going to get worse.  I'm getting grey hair and everything."  
  
Techie snorted.  "Don't let Ash hear you say stuff like that.  He's turning forty-three next month and is apparently sick of everyone calling him ancient."  
  
"But no one will ever know unless he says something.  He's going to look twenty-seven forever."  
  
"Not really."  Techie lifted his head to look up at Matt, then put his head back down when he remembered that Matt couldn't see him anyways.  "Ash probably looked more like twenty when he was initialized.  You can see it in his face, especially around his eyes.  Any of the little tinny wrinkles that aren't just printed on, those are synth-skin fatigue.  It won't happen very fast, as long as he takes care of himself, but he will age."  
  
"How come you don't age, then?"  
  
Techie stuck his tongue out.  "Ash was designed to be a grief companion, he needed to have a realistic skin texture.  It's nice, but not as durable as mine."  
  
"Realistic skin texture, huh?"  Matt ran his hand down Techie's arm, then back up again and into his shirt sleeve, spreading his fingers out to span his shoulder blade.  "How do you like my realistic skin texture?"  
  
Techie laughed, pressing his smile into Matt's arm.  "It's very nice."  
  
"Very nice?  Only very nice?  It doesn't get any more realistic than this!"  He flipped them over, pinning Techie to the couch and bringing their faces together until Techie's eyes finally came back into focus.  Their noses were almost touching.  "Or am I too human for you?"  
  
Techie smiled up at Matt, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him down on top of him.  "You are just the right amount of human for me, Mattie.  Not all of us can have an android fetish, you know."  
  
"You know that's because of you, right?"  Matt knocked their foreheads together gently.  "I like androids because I like you, not the other way around."  
  
Techie raised an eyebrow.  "If that's the case, then it's truly amazing how much android porn you had accidently downloaded onto your computer right before we met, considering you weren't into androids."    
  
Matt turned bright red and Techie laughed, leaning up to kiss him.  "I love you too Mattie."  
  
Matt pretended to glare down at him.  "You better."  
  
"Oh, and why is that?"  
  
"I'm the only one who knows how to fix the hydraulics in your knees when they start to get stiff.  So you better keep me around, or else you'd be stuck."  
  
"And who, exactly, do you think you're going to get to bring you peanut butter smoothies when you throw your back out trying out-lift a bunch of twenty-year-olds at the gym and can't get up from the couch?"  
  
Matt pretended to consider this for a second.  "You _are_ pretty good at that."  
  
"You should probably keep me around too then.  At least until you can train a replacement."  
  
"No, it's too late."  Matt let his weight settle on top of Techie, burying his face in Techie's neck, his hands still tangled in Techie's hair.  "We're stuck with each other."  
  
Ash hummed in agreement.  "The sex is pretty good too, even if it did take us a while to figure out."  
  
"Ash and Paterson should be grateful for all the hard work we put in."  
  
"It was very nice of you to help point them in the right direction, I know Ash appreciates it."  He buried his nose in Matt's hair for a second, before speaking again.  "He asked me if I had time to meet up with him tomorrow."  
  
Matt frowned, lifting his head to squint down at Ash's face.  "Do you want me to come with you?"  Techie had started up something of a tentative friendship with Ash, so far strictly online, but it wasn't a big surprise that they would want to meet up.  
  
"Paterson will be there.  Ash can't go anywhere without him, so, of course he’ll be there, and he's very nice but..."  Techie looked down and to the side.  "That's a lot of new people."  
  
"It'll be okay, I'll come."  Matt knocked their foreheads together lightly.  "Paterson seems like an alright guy.  Though, I'm not sure he likes me.  He's always giving be these really weird looks."  
  
"Well, that's his problem."  Techie smiled, nuzzling his face against Matt's and kissing his cheek.  "You're lovely."  
  
*****  
  
They had arranged to meet up with Ash and Paterson at the park near the Passaic River waterfall.  It was a beautiful summer day: clear blue skies and not a cloud in sight.  Matt parked their late 90s hatchback as close to the edge of the parking lot as possible and hurried Techie out of it, rushing him towards the shade of the trees.  
  
"We should get a new car."  Matt helped Techie tuck his hair up under his hat.  Full sun wasn't good for him, it could fade the color out of his hair and make his skin start to turn a weird burnt-yellow, like an old newspaper.  "The traffic keeps getting worse in this town.  We need something with air conditioning.  The heat isn't good for you."  
  
Techie quirked his eyebrows up skeptically as he adjusted his long sleeves.  "I'm fine Mattie.  But maybe we should get you something to drink."  
  
"I don't need anything to drink.  I'm just sick of sharing the road with shitty drivers.  They should all have their licences revoked.  Anyone who doesn't have someplace to be should just get the hell off the road."  
  
"Okay, Mattie.  Let's just stand in the shade for a while.  Maybe air conditioning would be a good idea."  
  
Matt allowed himself to be drawn closer to the bank of the Passaic River, where he could feel a cool breeze coming off the waterfall.  He turned towards it, taking his glasses off and wiping the sweat from his face.  
  
Techie produced a handkerchief from somewhere and handed it to him.  "Should we go find you something to drink?"  
  
"No, I'm alright."  Matt closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly while he stretched out his spine.  
  
"Is your back okay?"  
  
"We weren't in the car for that long."  
  
"I know, but--"  
  
"Babe."   Matt cut Techie off, taking his hand and threading their fingers together as he opened his eyes again.  "It's okay.  I'm sorry I got upset."  He breathed in and out a few more times.  His anger was something he was working on.  It was a lot better than it used to be, but that didn't make it okay.  Bad traffic on a hot day was always the worst.  "We're meeting them by the bridge, right?  Let's go."  
  
Techie squeezed his hand gently, then leaned in to kiss his cheek, the brim of his floppy hat hitting Matt awkwardly in the head as he did.  "Thank you for coming with me.  I know you're worried about Paterson, but I'm sure he likes you.  Ash tells me he reads all your columns."  
  
"Of course he does, he'd be stupid not to."  
  
They started down the path towards the bridge, their linked hands swinging back and forth between them.  "Just be patient with him, okay?  Ash says he has a hard time making friends."  
  
Matt nodded.  He could sympathize.  Not that he had a hard time making friends himself, but he could understand why some people might find it difficult.  
  
Ash and Paterson were already waiting on the bridge with their dog as Matt and Techie approached.  They were leaning against the railing and looking out over the waterfall.  Paterson had one arm wrapped around Ash's back and was rubbing slow circles into the inside of his elbow with his thumb.  
  
"Techie, Matt, good of you to come!"  Ash smiled widely, stepping out of the circle of Paterson's arms to greet them.  
  
They exchanged some brief small-talk about traffic and the weather, but it didn't take too long for Ash and Techie to become deeply engrossed in their own conversation, leaving Matt and Paterson to stare blankly at each other in uncomfortable silence.  
  
_No wonder he has such a hard time making friends_ , Matt thought to himself, _he is clearly, deeply uncomfortable around new people._  
  
Matt gave Paterson a few more seconds, just in case he wanted to be the first one to talk, and after a while he finally did.  "Ash and I really appreciate all the help you've given us."  
  
"You're welcome."  Matt responded, feeling vindicated.  "I told you it was a good column.  Lots of people like it, I have a big readership."  
  
Paterson nodded in agreement, then lapsed back into silence.  They made a few more half-hearted attempts at conversation, but mostly just watched the waterfall or took turns playing with Marvin.  It was quite a while later that Paterson drew himself up straight and turned to face Matt again, head-on.  "I'm sorry to spring this on you, but I have a favor to ask."  
  
Matt frowned.  People tended to not ask him for favors unless it was about money.  
  
"When I was in the military, I got used to being prepared for certain things.  Ash makes that more complicated."  Paterson paused.  "I have a living will, in case I die unexpectedly, and I would like to write you into it as the Ash's next Administrator."  
  
This wasn't about money.  
  
"I've talked to Ash and he's okay with it."  
  
Matt opened and closed his mouth a few time.  There was trust, and then there was _trust_.  Most people barely trusted Matt to hold their place in line, and here was Paterson, asking to put him in his will.  Only Techie had ever trusted Matt with something like that.  
  
"Right now, if I die, it could put Ash in a very vulnerable position."  
  
Matt cleared his throat, finally finding his voice again.  "I hired a lawyer a couple years ago.  He set up Techie as part of a trust, so he can manage himself basically indefinitely, or until the money runs out.  I could show you how."  
  
"Ash is different, he needs an Administrator."  Paterson was calm, looking Matt squarely in the eyes, as serious as a heart attack.  "I know this is a lot to ask, but I need to know he'll be taken care of."  
  
"I'll have to talk to Techie about it."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Paterson finally looked away, turning towards the river.  Matt didn't.  He continued to stare at Paterson's profile, thinking over what had just been said.  "That wasn't some weird sex propastion was it?"  
  
"No!"  Paterson startled.  He laughed nervously and put both hands up in denial.  "No.  Definitely not."  
  
"Good, because Techie and I do not have an open relationship."  
  
"Good.  That's good.  We don't either, definitely not."  Paterson shook his head.  "Not that there's anything wrong with that."  
  
"Good," Matt nodded in agreement, "not that there's anything wrong with that."  
  
An uncomfortable silence descended once again as Matt began contemplated the pros and cons of putting his hands in his pockets.  The conversation was going much better than he had anticipated and he didn't want to come across as disinterested, but just having them hanging at his sides was making him uncomfortable.  He was jealous of Paterson for having his dog's leash to hold on to.  
  
Paterson spoke up again after a minute.  "How did you two meet?"  
  
"Mattie rescued me."  Techie suddenly appeared at Matt's side, answering for him.  He and Ash must have wandered back over when they weren't paying attention.  He ducked under Matt's arm, bringing it to wrap around his waist.  "I was going to be recycled, but then Mattie saved me.  He took me home with him and fixed me up.  I owe him my life."  
  
Matt looked at Techie, offended.  "That's not what happened at all."  
  
Techie wrinkled his nose at him and shrugged, which only incensed Matt even more.  
  
"That's not anywhere close to what happened."  He turned to address Ash and Paterson.  "Techie saved himself.  He used to work in a data-mining factory and he smuggled himself out in the trash during a government raid.  I found him trying to climb out of a dumpster behind the Gamestop and asked him if he was okay."  Matt hugged Techie tighter to himself.  "I didn't know anything about androids, Techie had to show me everything.  He's the bravest person I know."  
  
"It felt like being saved."  Techie tucked his head under Matt's chin, his hat crumpling awkwardly against Matt's chest.  "You were there, right when I needed you and you've been there ever since."  
  
Matt wrapped his other arm around Techie's back, holding him close.  
  
Ash and Paterson exchanged a glance, then Paterson nodded to Matt.  "I'm sorry if I brought up unpleasant memories."  
  
"It's fine.  Today's just been a long day."  Matt stroked Techie's hair gently.  "We're going to head home, now.  It was nice to see you."  
  
Techie could be very outgoing, but it took a lot out of him, often more than he realized.  He protested being hauled away from Ash and Paterson so abruptly, but by the time they were back at the car, Matt had to help him climb into the passenger seat.  His reaction time was laggy and he was already drifting in and out of a low-level hibernation.  
  
Matt leaned over the center console to help him with his seat-belt, kissing him when it clicked into place.  Techie smiled at him drowsily.  "Mattie, can we be Ash's guardians in case Paterson dies?"  
  
"If that's what you want."  Matt helped him untangle his hair from his collar, kissing him again.  
  
"It is.  It would be nice to have a brother.  I've always wanted one.  And Ash says Paterson worries about it a lot."  
  
"Okay, I'll let Paterson know we'll do it."  
  
"I already did.  I knew you'd say yes."  
  
Matt sighed and rolled his eyes, kissing Techie one last time before sitting back to put his own seat-belt on.  "Go to sleep, Babe, I'll get us home."  
  
"Silly Mattie, androids don't sleep."  Techie mumbled, his higher-level systems already powering down.  
  
"Sure you don't."  Matt snorted, shaking his head.  "Next you'll be telling me you don't dream, either."  
  
Techie didn't respond.  He sat still and quiet in the passenger seat, internal regulators humming softly.  
  
Matt turned the key in the ignition and took them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I realized after writing this that Brendan Gleeson is in the Assassin's Creed movie and thus I may have accidentally established the existence of the Gleeson family in this universe. Let's all just collectively decide to ignore that, 'mmk?
> 
> If you are curious about what the heck Techie and Matt are talking about at the top of the chapter, you can find pictures of David 8 and the Engineer from Prometheus [here](https://harlanhardway.tumblr.com/post/171770339910/for-your-consideration) and Walter and David 8 from Alien: Covenant [here](https://harlanhardway.tumblr.com/post/171770390500).
> 
> Also, I made a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/harlanhardway/playlist/4fziRRqRwKEo3RibiMfAcf?si=xWd3A5NASKGVWz1GrVD16Q). It's short and sweet, like this fic XP.


	6. Extended Warranty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is an extra chapter that was added after the fic was marked as complete so if you're wondering why the chapter count went up, that's what happened. SURPRISE. There were just a few more things I wanted to do with the characters so... I added another chapter and because this is fanfiction... I can do that :DD Consider the shark officially jumped.

  
  
"Oh my God, don't move!"  
  
Paterson froze instinctually as Ash ran towards him.  The snow was hip-deep in the gully and that made it hard to maneuver.  Then, after a second, and realizing that there was no real reason he was being told not to move, he sat up and started looking around for the sled that had disappeared into the snowbank with him.  
  
"No!  Patty!  Don't move!  You're not supposed to move!"  
  
Paterson packed down the snow around his feet, giving himself a flat surface to stand on, and pushed himself upright.  
  
"Stay still!  I'm calling an ambulance!"  
  
"Ashley." Paterson turned towards Ash, who was still struggling through the heavy snow.  "I don't need an ambulance."  His face was wet and he paused to wipe the water off of it, then stopped when he caught sight of his hand.  
  
"Oh."  It wasn't water.  
  
"Patty, you have to sit down.  I read about this.  You could have swelling in your brain or a broken back, or... or..."  Ash continued to protest as he reached the bottom of the gully and tried to maneuver Paterson back into a seated position.  "Should I call life-flight?  I'm going to call life-flight.  They'll bring a helicopter here and you won't even have to move, they'll rush you right to a hospital."  
  
Paterson felt around on his face, it was mostly numb from the cold, but the bridge of his nose ached a bit and it was bleeding freely.  "Ash, I just broke my nose, I don't have to be life-flighted anywhere."  Paterson pulled off his already bloody glove and pinched it to his nose to try and staunch the bleeding.  It made his voice come out nasally and stilted.  "It might not even be broken.  I probably just kneed myself in the face when I landed, I'll be fine."  
  
"But... but what about concussions?  You used to play football!  You could have Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy!  What if this is the last straw?  What if--"  
  
"Ashley, I do not have CTE."  Ash's hands were fluttering around in distress, like he was afraid to even touch, lest he make things worse.  Paterson caught them and held them against his chest so that Ash could feel him breathing, one hand still pressing a bloody glove to his face.  "I sat on the JV bench for two years before quitting the team to run cross country.  Nobody gets tackled in cross country.  I am fine.  We can go inside and you can look me over if it will make you feel better but I promise, the worst that's going to happen is that I might look like a frightened racoon for a couple of days."  
  
Ash's eyes were very wide as they flicked back and forth between Paterson's face and their joined hands on Paterson's chest.  "But.  You're bleeding."  
  
"I know, sometimes that happens."  He pulled the glove away from his nose.  He could feel the congealed blood blocking his sinuses and resisted the urge to try and clear them out, breathing through his mouth instead.  The bleeding seemed to mostly have stopped.  "See, all better."  
  
Ash pressed his lips together, clearly not satisfied.  
  
"Do you want to go home?"  
  
Ash nodded, reaching around behind Paterson to tug the buried sled out of the snow without ever fully looking away from him.  "You're walking in front, though, and if I see anything I don't like, I'm calling an ambulance anyway."  
  
"I really am fine, Ashley."  
  
Trying to look as steady and coordinated on his feet as possible, Paterson lead the way out of the gully that he had inadvertently fallen into on their, in retrospect perhaps slightly misguided, sledding trip.  It was early evening and the sun was just starting to go down.  The street lights blinked to life as they made their way out of the park and onto the street, Ash hovering by Paterson's elbow the entire time.  
  
Back at the house, Paterson tried to sit down on the edge of the bathtub, as was their typical routine whenever Ash needed something looked at.  But Ash was having none of it and before he knew it, Paterson found himself being laid down flat on the bathroom floor, stripped to the skin, and treated to a head-to-toe examination.    
  
He briefly considered objecting, but then thought better of it.  If this was what it took to keep Ash from hauling him off to the emergency room for nothing more than a bloody nose, then so be it.  There really were worse things.  At least the floor was clean and Ash had been kind enough to turn on the footboard-heater and close the door to keep the heat in.  
  
"There's something wrong with your ribs."  
  
Paterson looked down at his chest.  "There's nothing wrong with my ribs, I didn't even bruise them.  Look, I can breathe just fine."  He took in a deep breath to demonstrative.  
  
"No, see, this one's not like the others."  Ash was pressing his fingers to Paterson's side, feeling along the bones.  "There's a bump."  
  
"That's old, Ash.  I broke it years ago and it healed just fine.  There's nothing wrong."  
  
Ash frowned, but seemed to accept that explanation.  He made Paterson roll over so he could feel along his spine, checking each vertebrae separately and then pulling Paterson's head into his lap so he could examine his skull.  
  
"You have a scar on your head."  Ash sounded almost accusing as he combed through Paterson's hair to get a better look.  "Why do you have a scar on your head?"  
  
"I tripped and slammed my head into the corner of the coffee table when I was seven."    
  
Ash turned Paterson's head from side to side, pushing his hair around as if concerned that he might be hiding some deadly injury above his hairline.  When he got around to inspecting his ears, Paterson laughed.  He couldn't help it, it was ridiculous and sweet and sort of tickled.  
  
Shaking his head to brush Ash's hands away, Paterson smiled up at him.  "Shockingly enough, there is absolutely nothing wrong with my ears.  Though I have had all my wisdom teeth taken out and..."  
  
He was about to add that he'd broken his tailbone a few years ago when he'd slipped on a patch of ice outside the grocery store.  He had been forced to sit on a donut for a month while he drove the bus.  But, as soon as he'd mentioned the thing about his wisdom teeth, Ash had stuck his fingers in his mouth and prevented him from continuing.  
  
"You have a filling.  Is there mercury in this?  It looks like there could be mercury in this."  Ash poked at Paterson's back teeth.  "When was the last time you went to the dentist?  Or the doctor?  Do you have all your shots?  Maybe you should get a tetanus booster.  Do you give yourself breast exams?  You're supposed to give yourself breast exams.  I could do them for you, if you wanted."  
  
Pulling his fingers out of Paterson's mouth, he started to feel along Paterson's nose, where it was tender and probably starting to swell.  "You might have deviated your septum, we should take you to the doctor, just in case."  
  
"Ash--"  
  
"And while we're there, we can have them do an MRI.  There's always a chance--"  
  
"Ash," Paterson sat up, taking Ash's hands in his.  "I had a bloody nose.  I've been immunized against everything the US government to could think of to immunize me against, I get my teeth looked at twice a year and if you want to start giving me breast exams, you can.  I do not need to go to the hospital."  
  
Ash's mouth twisted down into a frown and Paterson leaned forward to kiss it.  
  
He couldn't help it.  It was a ridiculously adorable frown.  Sometimes he felt guilty for thinking so, but instead of making his lips thin out, Ash's frown made his mouth look even fuller, if that was at all possible.  Sometimes, if he was particularly distraught, it even gave him dimples.  Paterson would, of course, much rather Ash had dimples from smiling, but the whole situation was just so ludicrous that Paterson was having a hard time taking it seriously.  "Darling--" Paterson started, but Ash cut him off.  
  
"No, I'm not Darling, you're Darling."  
  
"What?"  
  
"And I hate that book anyways. Dying is not an awfully big adventure and saying goodbye does not mean forgetting."  Ash was suddenly upset in a way that wasn't cute or funny anymore.  His whole face had fallen and he was rubbing his thumb compulsively across a pockmark scar Paterson had in the fleshy part of his shoulder, from where his best friend had accidently shot him with a bb-gun when he was in the third grade.  "Everyone grows up and moves on.  The Darlings and the lost boys and even Tinkerbell, but not Peter Pan, because he's not alive."  
  
"Ashley--"  Paterson was interrupted again when Marvin started whining and scratching at the door.  They had left him behind when they went sledding, the snow was difficult for him, and he probably needed to be let out.  
  
Ash started to get up, but Paterson stopped him.  "Ashley, what is this about?"  
  
Ash wouldn't meet his eyes, looking instead towards the door.  "I should take Marvin out and start dinner."  
  
"Wait."  Paterson carefully pulled him closer.  He felt stupid, naked on the floor of the bathroom, but this was important.  He wrapped his arms around Ash and hugged him to his chest.  "I'm not a child, Ashley, and this isn't an allegory or a dream.  This is very real.  I'm a man who loves you and you are very much alive."  
  
Ash nodded into Paterson's shoulder, but didn't say anything.  
  
After a minute or two, Marvin started scratching at the door again and this time when Ash got up to open it, Paterson didn't try to stop him.  
  
Paterson got dressed and made up an ice pack for his face while Ash started dinner, insisting that Paterson stay inside and rest while Ash took Marvin out alone.  He couldn't go far from the house, but with half a foot of snow on the ground, Marvin didn't have much interest in going very far anyways.  Paterson watched them from the window while he iced his face.  Ash was still visibly shaken, standing out in the cold, stock-still with his feet shoulder-width apart, waiting, while Marvin sniffed around his feet.  It was how he stood when he was most unsure of himself, when he was trying to process conflicting information, or butting up against a restriction in his programming.  He used to do it a lot when he had first come to live with Paterson, but it had lessened over time.  
  
Seeing him standing like that, not bothering to look up into the gently falling snow, not inspecting the snowflakes that caught on his sleeves or even seeming to notice them, was enough to make Paterson pick up the phone and scroll through his contacts list to a number he had saved, but not yet ever had reason to dial.  
  
It rang eight times before, just when Paterson was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to leave a voicemail, someone picked up.  
  
" _Hello?_ "  
  
"Hi, it's Paterson, sorry to disturb you so late, is Techie there?"  
  
" _Is something wrong?_ "  Matt's voice was just as distinctive over the phone as it was in real life.  
  
"No."  Paterson's eyes drifted back to the window, where he could still see Ash standing, silent and unmoving, in the backyard.  He revised his statement.  "Nothing big.  I got a nosebleed today and Ash was worried about it."  
  
" _Oh._ "  There was a short pause, followed by, " _Why do you need Techie?_ "  
  
"I thought Techie might be able to reassure him."  
  
" _Yeah, no.  Techie still freaks out every time I get hurt._ "  
  
"I'm not really hurt, though.  I just got a nosebleed."  
  
" _So?  You probably looked to him like you were leaking hydraulic fluid out of your face._ "  There was some shuffling around on the other end of the line.  " _Just let him look  in your ears and stick his fingers up your nose so he can see that your brain isn't actually falling out._ "  
  
"That was pretty much the first thing he did."  
  
" _Then, I don't know, talk to him about it.  Techie hadn't had a lot of human contact before we first met.  He knew about us, but hadn't ever really touched one.  My heartbeat used to freak him out, he said it sounded like engine knock._ "  
  
"Huh."  That made a strange kind of sense.  
  
" _You're probably just as strange to him as he is to you._ "  There was some more shuffling around on the other end of the phone line and then what sounded like Techie's voice from the other room and Matt answering briefly, before speaking into the phone again.  " _Techie said he already talked to Ash anyways._ "  
  
"Oh, okay.  Tell him thanks and that I say, 'hi.'"  
  
Matt covered the phone to talk to Techie.  " _He says, 'hi,' back._ "  He paused and cleared his throat awkwardly into the receiver.  " _So, I heard from Techie that you lift_."  
  
Paterson blinked, turning back to the window, where Ash had finally shaken himself out of his frozen stance and was heading towards the back door with Marvin.  "Not really anymore.  I used to, though."    
  
" _Well, there's a gym I go to after work.  It's pretty good, lots of UFC guys go there.  If you ever want to get back into it, you should come."_  
  
"Thanks, but fighting isn't really for me."  
  
" _It's not a fighting gym, this is just where some of them lift. Nobody throws down in the middle of their workout or anything.._."  Matt laughed awkwardly.    
  
"That's good."  
  
" _Okay, well.  Let me know if you ever want to go.  Bye._ "  
  
Matt hung up abruptly, leaving Paterson staring down at the phone in surprise, marveling at Matt's ongoing strangeness.  
  
Ash walked in the door.  "Who was on the phone?"  
  
"Matt."  He hung the receiver back up on the wall.  
  
"Everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah.  He wants to go lift weights sometime."  
  
"Mmm..."  Ash kicked off his shoes and came up behind Paterson, putting his arms around him.  He slipped one hand between the buttons of his shirt so it could rest just over Paterson's heart, not quite against the skin, but at least one layer closer, with just his undershirt in between.  He stroked his thumb across Paterson's chest, laying his head against Paterson's shoulder.  "Do you want to?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"It could be good."  Ash knocked his head against Paterson's shoulder.  "I'm sorry about earlier.  I try not to be so weird all the time."  
  
Paterson turned around, Ash's hand tangled up between them.  "You're not weird."  He pulled Ash close and pressed his face into his hair.  
  
Ash turned his head slightly, so they were standing cheek to cheek, Paterson's breath and sweat and heartbeat pressing against the steady electric hum and static heat of Ash's skin.  
  
"Humans are delicate."  Ash remarked, almost to himself.  
  
Paterson shook his head.  "Androids are delicate."  
  
" _All the world is faith and trust and pixie dust."_  
  
Paterson drew Ash in closer, as if by holding him tightly enough, he could somehow stop time, make rivers flow backwards.  "I'm not going to live forever, Ashley, but I will take care of myself."  
  
"I'll take care of myself too, Patty."  
  
More than reassurance, it felt like understanding and maybe, also, a promise.  
  
*****  
  
"Techie thinks we need to change our safeword."  
  
"What?"  Paterson almost dropped the bench press bar onto his chest.  It wobbled worryingly for a second before he caught himself and concentrated on lifting it cleanly upwards.  
  
"Woah there, you got it."  Matt stood over Paterson's head, spotting him and counting out his reps.  
  
It had been a few days since the sledding accident and the training center's receptionist had reassured him that he would be able to retake his ID photo after the black eyes had faded, but Paterson was still beginning to regret not waiting longer to take Matt up on his offer to train together.  
  
He lowered the bar back down towards his chest, hoping he had either misheard or misunderstood.  
  
Matt continued.  "Our safeword used to be Peachtree.  But he's so pale, when I spank him it makes his butt look like a peach and now he thinks we should change it, in case I want to call him that."  
  
Paterson stared intently at the bar between his hands and Matt must have mistaken his look of shock and horror for an invitation to clarify, because he did.  
  
"It took so long to pick that one though.  They say to choose a word that's not gonna come up during sex, but what doesn't come up during sex?  What do you guys use?  _Three_."  He counted out Paterson's next rep.  
  
 "We, uh... don't have one."  
  
" _Four._   Really?  Holy Shit.  Doesn't that freak you out?"  
  
"Umm... I've never needed one before."  
  
"Sure, but, come on.  _Five._   You're with an android now.  I asked Techie one time if he liked missionary and he told me, 'it's emotionally enjoyable.'  Like that's something any guy ever wants to hear.  Not that I'm complaining, the kinky shit is great.  You know what I mean?  But, yeah, now we need a new safeword.  _Six._ "  
  
"How about 'stop'?."  
  
"Sometimes he likes to say, 'don't stop.'  'Stop' and 'don't stop' are too close.  _Seven_."  Matt helped Paterson re-rack the bar and Paterson sat up, stretching out his arms.  
  
"What about just a random word, like 'pinecone?'"  
  
Matt gave him an unimpressed look.  "It has to be something that won't come up during sex."  
  
Paterson definitely did not want to know how or why the word pinecone might come up during sex.  He was trying to think of ways to transition out of the whole line of conversation, when he was saved by Matt's phone going off in his pocket.  
  
Matt swore as he took it out, swiping through the unlock screen and scrolling through his notifications.  "I finally made a Twitter account for the column and some asshole has been spamming me all day.  He says some guy he works with is secretly an android and wants to out him or something."  
  
"And you're trying to convince him not to?"  
  
"No, he's a troll, I'm trying to block him.  Look."  He flipped his phone around to show Paterson the screen.  There was a long list of messages from @| <yl023n, each of them involving lots of exclamation points and emojis, but other than that Paterson couldn't make out much of what any of them said.  Matt scrolled through it to demonstrate that the list went on.  "Half the account is just him arguing with @kylorenisafuckingcunt and the other half is him saying that all redheads are androids and don't have souls."  
  
Paterson smiled a bit at that.  "To be fair, all the redheads I know _are_ androids."  
  
Matt scoffed and turned back to his phone.  "That doesn't mean they don't have souls.  I'm gonna tell him android jizz tastes like strawberries and that the only way to know for sure is to test it."  He finished typing out the message and locked his phone up, shoving it in his pocket and lying down for his turn on the bench press.  
  
"What if he really does work with an android?"  Paterson helped him unrack the bar and started spotting him through his set.    
  
"Three read-headed androids in one city?  No way."  
  
"He lives here?  _One._ "  Paterson counted out the first rep.  
  
"That's what his profile says."  Matt sounded a bit strained, trying to keep the conversation going through his workout.  
  
"Huh.  _Two._ "  
  
"I'll probably just have Techie show me how to block the fucker when I get home, so he's not crowding up my feed anymore."  
  
"Probably for the best.  _Three_."  Paterson responded, only vaguely sure what that meant.  
  
*****  
  
Ash was pulling a shepherd's pie out of the oven when Paterson got home.  The buzzer had just gone off as he came in, so instead of greeting Paterson at the door like he normally did, Ash shouted from the kitchen.  "Welcome home Patty!"  
  
Paterson kicked off his shoes and followed the sound of Ash's voice into the other room.  He was bent over the stovetop, taking the lid off a steaming casserole dish, wearing bright orange halloween-themed oven mitts and a pink floral-print apron.  The combination of obnoxious colors and patterns was not complimentary, it brought out the red in his skin-tone and made him look flushed in an objectively unflattering way.  
  
Paterson was not objective when it came to Ash.  
  
He liked that Ash could be so completely inelegant at times.  It made him smile to see the stupid pumpkin-shaped oven mitts that clashed horribly with Ash's hair and to know that Ash only liked them because Paterson had given them to him as a joke.  
  
The floral-print apron had arrived with Ash from Ireland and was one of the few mementos from his previous life that he seemed to enjoy having around.  Logically speaking, Paterson was fairly certain it had been his mother's, but it felt more like something from Ash's past than his own and he was happy to think of it that way.  Ash deserved to have a past.  
  
"How did it go with Matt?"  Ash asked.  
  
Paterson hesitated.  
  
Ash must have caught the look on Paterson's face because he rolled his eyes at him over his shoulder and continued without waiting for a response.  "I know he's a bit odd, but you write poetry and are having regular sex with an android so I'd be careful about throwing stones if I were you."  
  
Paterson laughed.  "That's fair enough."  He walked over to the sink to wash his hands and fill the electric kettle for Ash's cinnamon tea.  "I don't know if he means to, but he does help to put things in perspective sometimes.  Compared to him and Techie, our relationship seems very normal."  
  
Ash snorted, leaning over to kiss him as he passed, on his way to set the table.  "You are the exact opposite of anything I could have ever expected.  But, yes, data imprinting aside, 'statistically average' is just about the definition of what I am."  
  
"Well."  Stepping closer, Paterson waited for Ash to finish putting down the hot pan, then leaned into his space with one hand resting lightly on each hip.  He gently walked him backwards towards the counter until the small of his back was pressed up against the silverware drawer.  "I find 'statistically average' to be quite exceptional."  
  
Ash smiled.  His eyes were clear and bright and his long eyelashes threw soft shadows across his cheeks.  Paterson drew in closer to carefully kiss the corner of Ash's eye, then pulled back, grinning.  "I guess you are my type, though.  My ex-wife was also a singer with a foreign accent and an affinity for dogs."  
  
"I do not like dogs!"  Ash glared and squirmed away.  "And I'm not a singer!  B’sides, English is mah native language so feck you, you're te one wit a feckin accent."  
  
Paterson laughed and grabbed his silverware out of the drawer before picking up Ash's tea off the counter and bringing it to the table.  "I love it when you sing."  
  
When Ash continued to stand by the counter instead of sitting down, Paterson looked over at him, questioningly.  "Join me?"  
  
For a second, Paterson thought he wasn't going to, but then Ash sat himself down on in the chair next to him after all, though still frowning and further away than he normally would have been.  
  
Paterson sighed and pulled Ash into his lap.  He was tired and sore and his face was starting to hurt again.  He wasn't sure what he had done or if he even had the energy to find out, but if he was going to try, he didn't want to have to do it with Ash so far away.  "I'm sorry, I was just teasing.  I didn't mean to upset you."  
  
Ash shifted as he settled himself on Paterson's lap and Paterson was forced to bite back a grimace.  Ash was cute, but surprisingly boney for someone who didn't actually have any bones.  
  
Ash ran his fingers through Paterson's hair, pushing it back from his face and tucking it neatly behind his ears.  He looked embarrassed, or like he was embarrassed about being embarrassed.  He concentrated on his fingers in Paterson's hair and did not meet his eyes.  "I don't like being compared to your ex."  
  
"Okay."  It took Paterson a second to fully absorb why that might be an especially sensitive point for Ash.  "Oh.  I didn't mean it like that.  I'm sorry, it was a bad joke.  You're not a replacement, or anything like that."  
  
Ash nodded.  "I know."  He focused intently on a lock of hair he was slowly wrapping around his index finger.  "I don't mean to overreact all the time."  
  
"No, Ash.  You're just fine."  Paterson dropped his forehead forwards to lean against Ash's chest, then turned his face to the side to take the pressure off his nose.  "I like the way you are."  
  
Ash petted his hair for a second, leaning down to kiss Paterson's temple before extracting himself from his lap.  "You should eat, before it gets cold.  Then we can have sex."  
  
Paterson coughed.  
  
"Endorphins are supposed to be good for you.  It will help you sleep."  Ash blinked over at him innocently, holding his tea and keeping his face mostly straight.  But there were little dimples in the corners of his mouth, and laugh lines around his eyes.  
  
Paterson snorted and shook his head, smiling back.  "Well, if it's for my health."  
  
*****  
  
By the time Paterson finished eating, his arms were heavy and his face was starting to feel swollen and achy.  He had been wearing cover-up foundation to work for the previous few days and would be glad when his twin black eyes finally faded enough to no longer be noticable.  He looked them over in the mirror as he brushed his teeth.  It was a good thing he had showered at the gym, he didn't think he had the energy to even properly wash his face.  As it was, just the idea of changing out of his clothes was starting to sound like a lot of work.  
  
Then Ash was there, helping him ease his shirt carefully over his head and step out of his pants, pulling back the covers for him to lie down and placing a cold compress over his nose and eyes.  
  
The bedside drawer opened and closed and Ash climbed in bed with him, straddling his legs, the soft warm skin of his bare thighs bracketing Paterson's hips.  Paterson's hands went up to them automatically, stroking upwards to feel the bow of his back as Ash bent down to kiss his chest and massage his shoulders.  Paterson groaned, relaxing back into the mattress.  It felt so good: the warmth of the bed and Ash's smooth skin, the cold weight of the cloth over his swollen face.  He was already getting hard, rocking his hips up gently into the give of Ash's body above him.  Ash's hair ticked against Paterson's chest.  His mouth was wet and warm and his fingers were gentle.  
  
But Paterson was so tired, he could already feel himself slipping half-way into sleep.  Reluctantly, he brought one hand up to Ash's shoulder, stopping him.  "Ashley, I don't think I can tonight."  
  
Ash kissed Paterson's hand and lowered his hips, just enough to give Paterson some friction to rub up against.  Paterson groaned as his erection slid against the soft swell of Ash's ass.  
  
"It'll be good for you though, Patty."  Ash leaned down to place a careful kiss to Paterson's neck.  "It will help you relax.  You don't have to do anything, you can even fall asleep if you want to, I don't mind.  People can still come in their sleep, did you know that?"  
  
That last was said with such an air of curiosity, it almost made Paterson laugh.  Ash found sleep to be bizarrely fascinating.  He sighed, relaxing back into the pillows again and bringing his hands back to Ash's hips.  "I won't be able to help you clean up afterwards."  
  
"We'll use a condom."  Paterson heard the telltale crinkle of one being opened and then a pause.  "We don't have to, if you don't want to.  I can get you some ibuprofen instead."  
  
Paterson smiled sleepily, running his hands up and down Ash's legs.  "You want to?"  
  
"I want to."  
  
"You won't be upset if it doesn't work?"  
  
"I won't be upset."  
  
"Okay, then let's try it."  
  
It was cold for a moment as Ash slipped the condom on, then he felt Ash's thighs tense and raise up.  One hand reached back to guide him as Ash began to drop his weight and slowly bear down.  By the time Ash was fully seated, Paterson was tingling all over.  Being inside Ash was like being inside no one else.  It wasn't entirely foreign, there was heat and pressure, warm thighs pressed tight around his hips, the slickness of lube and precome and the dampening of the condom.  But instead of gasps and breathy moans like any of his previous partners, Ash would sometimes broadcast static over the radio when he was close to coming.  Instead of the steady pulse of a heartbeat quickening under Paterson's fingers, Ash would build up a static charge, like the air right before a lightning storm.  
  
Paterson reached back behind his head to ground himself against the iron bed-frame.  They had bought it used a few months ago at an antique store when literal sparks from static electricity had started to become a problem.  
  
He wasn't going to last long, he could already feel himself getting close and steadied himself with one hand on Ash's hip.  "I love you, Ashley.  What can I... what do you want?  What can I do...?"  
  
"Come.  Come inside me, Patty.  Just like this."  
  
"Okay... okay."  
  
His grip tightened on the bed-frame.  Tingling all the way from his toes to the roots of his hair, he thrust up, every muscle tensing.  Then he came.  
  
It felt light, heady and warm, like being emptied out.  His hands fell to his sides as he shuddered through the aftershocks, suddenly too tired to hold themselves up.  All the tension had drained out of him, leaving him woosy and lethargic, barely floating on the edge of consciousness.  He only noticed he was still breathing through his mouth when Ash leaned forward to kiss it and the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was thinking that he was probably going to snore and hopefully Ash wouldn't mind too much.  
  
*****  
  
Ash was warm and soft in Paterson's arms when he woke up the next morning, blinking over at him through copper-colored eyelashes.  He smiled softly and tilted his head forward to kiss the bridge of his nose.  "Feeling better?"  
  
"Yes."  Paterson answered, rolling over onto his back and pulling Ash on top of him.  He loved waking up next to Ash.  He never said so, he didn't want Ash to feel pressured to always be there, but he still loved it.  "What do you do while I sleep?"  
  
Ash shrugged, nuzzling at the crook of Paterson's neck.  "Scan Twitter, learn about the rainforest, watch reality TV, same as I used to do out in the living room.  Except nicer, because you're here."  
  
"Even though I'm asleep?"  
  
"It's not as if I lie around watching you all night, I'm not that creepy.  It just feels good not to be alone."  
  
"I'd probably be okay with it, even if you were that creepy."  
  
Ash flicked him lightly on the chin.  "Last night I listened to an audio book of _Finnigans Wake_.  It's good, better than I thought it would be."  
  
"The whole thing?"  
  
"I listen faster than you do."  
  
Paterson laughed quietly as he let his eyes drift close again.  It was still early and he didn't have to be up for another hour at least.  "You should read it to me, sometime."  
  
"If you want.  I'm warning you, though, it’s a bit weird and doesn't totally make sense most of the time."  
  
"That's fine. Read it to me anyways."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with added Kylux, because the real troll is me.
> 
> The Peter Pan references and quotes are _Peter Pan_ references and quotes (by J. M. Barrie).
> 
>  _Finnigans Wake_ is a novel by James Joyce. It's a bit beyond me, to be honest, but kind of the best thing in the world to listen to on tape. If you're curious, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SU8E1WVyuhg) is James Joyce reading an excerpt.
> 
> This is a [Further Reading List](https://harlanhardway.tumblr.com/post/173388878600/fic-rec-list-1) of kylux fics you might also enjoy if you liked this one, as well as some bonus android AUs that are very different in tone but definitely not to be missed if android AUs are your thing.


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